


What the Heart Wants

by Laura_Mayfair



Series: As Time Goes By (AU) [2]
Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Mayfair/pseuds/Laura_Mayfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raydor/ Flynn. Set after season 1. Sequel to "As Time Goes By." Andy proposes to Sharon but their future plans are put on hold when a dangerous person from Flynn's past threatens their happiness. Romance & Suspense.  Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sharon Raydor held her briefcase in her right hand, a stack of papers under her left arm, a coffee in her right hand, and a bagel in between her lips as she elbowed the front door of the house and began doing a shuffling motion with her feet to maneuver through. At this precise moment, Andy Flynn was just about to walk by with the sports section and his coffee when he saw her struggling. He set his coffee and paper on the table and waltzed over to her.

"You know, the casual observer would think your boyfriend is an inconsiderate lout. Of course, the casual observer might not pick up on how stubborn, proud, and independent you are."

Andy held the door for her and attempted to take her briefcase. His efforts were met with a vicious glare and irate mumbling that was rendered unintelligible by the spinach bagel as she clung possessively to her items. Undaunted, Andy followed Sharon to the car and opened the rear driver's side door for her with a flourish. He watched her bend over the backseat to arrange things. She was wearing his favorite skirt— the cream colored one with a small slit in the back. The blouse underneath the matching jacket was turquoise but Andy wasn't looking at her jacket or blouse; he was far too busy admiring other assets on her posterior side with a very naughty sideways smile.

Sharon spun around to face Andy with a jagged stare. With an imperious shake of her long red hair, she removed the bagel from her mouth.

"I'm going to interpret what you said earlier as an outpouring of love and devotion," Andy informed her. The corners of his mouth crinkled into a smile.

"I said that I'm not helpless and—"

Andy stepped forward and put a finger against her lips. "Don't ruin a beautiful moment," he teased her, looking at her affectionately.

Sharon burst out laughing, her irritation evaporating in the blink of an eye. "How do you manage to love me even when I'm grumpy?" she asked him with a quick but heartfelt kiss as she slid her arms up around his shoulders. "The caseload has been hell lately. I'm sorry I'm edgy."

"Exactly why you need a little R & R with me." Andy wrapped his arms around her waist and they looked at one another, enjoying the shared moment.

"Oh, I need more than a little R & R. With all of this overtime, we haven't made love in over a week. I'm overworked _and_ I'm sex-deprived. Bad combination."

"Well," Andy said grinning, "If you manage to slip away with me tonight as promised, I think we can take care of at least one of those problems." He lowered his voice and brought his mouth to her ear. "And it's okay to say that you're horny, although 'sex-deprived' is a very eloquent and articulate euphemism."

"I am perfectly capable of saying the word horny," Sharon replied, lowering the volume of her voice to a discreet hush when she said it.

Andy grinned at her. "Mmmm, but you're blushing. I wonder what else I can get you to say later. And if you'll blush…."

Sharon fidgeted. "I'm not blushing," she protested without conviction. " And you are going to make me late." Andy had a surprise for Sharon that included an overnight stay in a hotel. She knew they were going away for one night but didn't know where he planned to take her. They had both been working long hours lately and definitely needed some time together.

"So….we are on for tonight?" Andy prompted.

"Yes, I cleared it with Taylor. If I hadn't been able to get away, I would have had to arrange a quickie with you on my lunch."

"Ohhhh, that sounds intriguing. We could still do lunch…and one another," Andy assured her with raised eyebrows and a lustful survey of her body.

Sharon sighed. "I can't. As much as I'd like to." She kissed him again, longer and slower. "But hold that thought, okay?" Andy let her go and watched her slip into the car. Sharon's eyes lingered on him as she glanced at him over the driver's side door. "I love you. See you at five-thirtyish."

"Love you, too," Andy told her as he closed her door for her.

_A figure in the distance watched the couple. It was not the first time. Their routine was becoming familiar. Watching so often wasn't wise but they were so compelling. The initial curiosity had expanded into a craving to understand something between them that the observer had never had in their own life. They were sickening in their flaunted perfection, a picture postcard of the American dream. Why should some have so much and others so little? The soil was ripe for envy and the seed erupted into a coiling vine that began to unfurl its serpent-leaves._

_Dreams can be crushed so easily._

At work Sharon was so involved in one of her cases that she ended up taking only a quarter of an hour for lunch. It was a murder case where a woman had been asphyxiated in her own home. Her husband had found the body and had made the 911 call reporting the murder. The intruder had entered the home, ostensibly, through a downstairs window that had been all too conveniently left open. No items were reported missing from the home and the signs of struggle were minimal; this was definitely someone she knew. Circumstantially, the evidence pointed to the husband but they didn't have a clear motive or enough physical evidence to make a very strong case.

"Motive or not," Provenza stated, "it was the husband."

"I agree with you, Lieutenant, but we need a motive. And there's something in that 911 call that bothers me but I can't put my finger on it."

Chief Taylor stepped into the murder room. "Do you have a moment, Captain? I'd like to see you in my office."

"Yes. Excuse me. Lieutenant Sanchez, see what you can dig up for me on the Blooms' financial situation. Thank you."

Taylor ushered Sharon into his office and closed the door. "Please, sit."

Sharon sat down across from him and crossed her legs. Taylor sat at his desk with his hands folded and looked at her. Neither spoke. If Chief Taylor were trying to intimidate her, he was doing a poor job; Sharon was not afraid of him and never had been, a fact that had not changed in her three years with Major Crimes.

"Look, Captain, let me just cut to the chase. I know you've been on overload lately but unfortunately it can't be helped." He leaned back in his chair. "And I'm going to need you to come in tomorrow."

Sharon narrowed her green eyes and took off her glasses. "You approved my day off, Chief. And if I may remind you—the last time I asked for a day was over six months ago. I work overtime on a dime when I'm asked as well as coming in early and working off the clock when we're particularly swamped."

"Your dedication isn't coming into question—your discretion is."

"Excuse me? Just what are we talking about here?"

"It's my understanding that you're living with Lieutenant Flynn."

"Your understanding would be correct. I haven't made any particular efforts to conceal the nature of my relationship with Andrew Flynn. We work in entirely separate divisions. Our behavior at work is professional. This isn't exactly an unusual or unprecedented situation. Frankly, I'm not certain why we're having this conversation."

"Look—I'm not trying to be the bad guy here. People talk; you know that. The interval between your relationship with Lieutenant Flynn and his transfer to EPEU was very brief." Taylor fiddled with a pen. "Some folks make the supposition that there might have been some—lapses—prior to Flynn's transfer."

Sharon was fuming. "I see. So let's be blunt, shall we? What you're inferring is that while Lieutenant Flynn was under my command I had an affair with a subordinate officer."

"I didn't say that. I'm trying to help your career by giving you some advice. You're a bright woman and you have the potential for a very distinguished future. You just have to be careful."

"I think that we are quite finished her, Chief Taylor," Sharon announced sharply and stood up. "If you, or the individuals who are so interested in my personal life, would like to further their inquiry, feel free to launch a formal investigation into my conduct. Until then, I do not expect to be having these discussions. As for tomorrow, while I do regret that we are running under the wire, you did approve my time off and I have plans that cannot be altered at such short notice. According to the rules on such matters, I believe that I am correct in my assumption that this cannot be held against me."

With that, Sharon stood up. "Captain Taylor." She nodded at him and exited without giving him so much as a moment's opportunity to respond. Once she might of have cared what all of this meant for her career but right now—she didn't give a damn.

Sharon arrived home before Andy. Rusty was sitting at the kitchen table when she walked in with a stack of books and his laptop.

"Hi Rusty," she smiled. "I didn't know you were coming home this weekend. Andy and I are going away for the evening. We'll be back in the morning. We could all do brunch."

"That's okay, Sharon. I didn't think I would be either."

Sharon pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. "Spill. What's the matter?"

"Nah, it's nothing."

"I don't believe you."

"Metro Corp has been giving me a hard time about my classes conflicting with my work hours."

"Quit."

Sharon and Rusty had had this conversation before. He worked part time for an insurance company as well as going to school full time with the intention of paying Sharon back for her financial assistance. It was the same reason he'd chosen a far less expensive state school rather than a private college, despite her insistence that he explore other options. She wasn't looking for compensation and never had been.

"Sharon—"

"Rusty, if you're still planning on going into social work, you'll have an internship anyway on the horizon and you're going to want to go to Grad school. There's no need for you to spread yourself thin. While I wholeheartedly admire your commitment to work and school, school comes first. Plus, you could try to get something more in line with your major, especially once you start getting into content courses. And you can come see Andy and me more often. It's a win/win."

"That's nice and all Sharon but—"

"But what?" Sharon reached for Rusty's hand and squeezed it. "What do I have to do to convince you that you are a member of this family, hmmm?" She smiled softly at him. "Now, as much as I would love to sit and chat with you, I have to hurry up and get ready. Can I get you something to eat first?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"If Andy comes in, tell him not to run the water," she called.

Rusty went back to his homework until he heard a key in the door. It was Andy and he was carrying a bunch of yellow roses. "Hey, Rusty!" Andy grinned. He grabbed a vase from under the sink and turned on the tap. After several seconds there was a high pitched screech from down the hall.

"Oh, crap," Rusty said urgently. "Sharon's in the shower. She told me to tell you not to run the water."

"Oops," Andy chuckled while he arranged the roses in the vase and set them on the table. "Hopefully, the flowers will make amends."

"What's the occasion?"

"I'm taking Sharon to the opera. But don't tell her. It's a surprise."

"That's awfully nice of you…sitting through a whole opera for her."

Andy shuffled his feet. "Actually, I like the opera. My grandmother used to have LPs when I was a kid. I grew up in Jersey so it wasn't a really long way to go to the Met and you could get standing room tickets real cheap. I have a lot of good memories." His face softened even more. "And I kind of like the idea of creating some new ones with Sharon."

"You _really_ like her."

"Yeah. I really do."

"Andy," Sharon called.

"Excuse me."

As Andy walked down the hall, he heard her voice again. "In the bedroom."

"That sounds promising," he said wryly as he stepped into the room and shut the door. "Sorry about the cold water. Rusty forgot to tell me that you were in the shower.

"It's okay." She stood by the bed wearing nothing but a white bath towel.

"I called you in here—"

"To have your wicked way with me," finished Andy.

"I'm serious."

Andy's smile nearly made her toes curl. "So am I."

"You won't tell me where we're going tonight so I'll need a little fashion assistance," Sharon prompted.

"Ah. I'm not great with this sort of thing but something dressy."

"Dressy as in formal or dressy as in little black cocktail dress?"

"Either. But I'm partial to little black cocktail dress."

"Okay, thanks." Sharon dropped her towel on the floor and sauntered over to the closet, completely naked. Her back was to him. Long, damp red hair floated down her back. She turned her head back before opening the closet door and gave him a pert little smile.

"You'd better get ready; you wanted to leave before seven," she said silkily.

"You're such a tease."

"I'm only a tease if I don't deliver," Sharon replied as she began sifting through the closet. "And I'll definitely be delivering."

Andy paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned back to look at her once more before leaving. He was gratified to catch her gazing back at him, clearly checking out his ass.

It was going to be a long night for both of them.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sharon despised lateness and getting ready for a date with Andy was no exception. She was packed and dressed on time. She took Andy's advice and wore a simple a-line black dress with a square neckline and sheer sleeves. For jewelry, she wore the silver Tiffany's pendant Andy had given her for Christmas with the interlocking circles, tiny dangle diamonds in her ears, and a silver filigree bangle wrist watch. Black pumps with pointed toes completed the outfit.

Andy looked good enough to eat in his classic black suit and gray tie. He was giving Rusty a little piece of paper when Sharon walked into the kitchen.

"That has the name, address, and phone number of the hotel," he told Rusty. "And you have Sharon's cell and mine."

"Don't forget to arm the alarm," added Sharon.

"And leave the floodlights on," cautioned Andy.

Rusty rolled his eyes. "And I won't talk to strangers. Geez. I'm not a kid. I think I can handle being by myself for a night." But even as Rusty said it, he found their concern touching.

"There's some leftover chicken parmesan in the green container in the fridge. Sharon didn't make it so it's absolutely edible." Rusty and Andy shared a chuckle and Sharon glared at them.

"Andy and I will be back a little after eleven tomorrow morning. We're taking you to brunch." Sharon kissed the top of Rusty's head. The white floral scent of her perfume was comfortingly familiar.

Andy patted his shoulder. "Call us if you need anything, buddy."

Rusty rolled his eyes again but he was smiling. "You know—you two should just get married already," He had to stifle a laugh at the awkwardness that his observation created. There was a telling silence as Andy and Sharon avoided eye contact. It was so utterly obvious how crazy about one another they were. What Rusty didn't know was that Andy already had a little black box in his pocket with a ring in it and it was his intention to ask Sharon to marry him tonight.

As for Sharon, she had sworn that she would never, ever marry again after the debacle that had been her 32 year marriage to Richard Raydor.

But she hadn't accounted for Andy Flynn.

Sharon was a planner. She liked routines and schedules. She was the kind of woman who woke up at the same time every day, ran the same route on the local bike path, ate the same low carb spinach bagel with low fat cream cheese almost every morning. She was logical and pragmatic, analytical and focused. She had married for the first time out of a sense of duty to her parents, out of a sense of responsibility. By her own admission, love had never been in the equation. She didn't always know what to make of her whirlwind feelings toward Andy Flynn. She even had moments when she found the whole experience completely overwhelming. But Andy was always there to steady her in the eye of the storm and she had faith in him-in _them_. She trusted him implicitly. He was completely unexpected, a random, perfect serendipity. He was a welcome chaos in the streamlined order of her life. And she loved him with all of her heart. Sharon could rattle off a thorough checklist with all the reasons that a second marriage would be impractical and ill advised. But Andy Flynn defied them all.

Rusty watched Andy and Sharon as they walked toward the door, Andy's hand resting on the small of her back. "Have fun, you two." He grinned at them and waved when they turned to exchange a final goodbye.

Andy hadn't been nervous about proposing to Sharon until that moment when Rusty mentioned it and she suddenly hadn't been able to look at him. He had been so caught up in his feelings for her that he had never really considered the possibility that his intentions might not be welcome. It wasn't that he was overly confident or egotistical about it. It was simply because he was so excited about the prospect of making her his wife that love triumphed over reason.

They were both uncharacteristically quiet as Andy drove to the opera house, each of them thinking intently about Rusty's innocent remark regarding marriage. Andy's palms were suddenly sweaty on the steering wheel as he stole glances at Sharon in the dark car. She looked so beautiful. They were so happy. He had felt so certain that marrying her was the right thing—not out of any obligation, not because he had to or because they "should" but because he simply wanted to. He loved her in a way that he had never loved any woman before; he didn't even know what he was missing until she had come along. They had danced a little bit around the topic of marriage. Andy had gotten vibes that she was open to the idea.

What if he were wrong?

What if he were pushing her—asking for too much too soon? What if he had misread the signals? Sharon's twin Samantha had assured him that Sharon's answer would be an unequivocal yes. But how could anybody be sure? Her previous marriage had been a disaster. Richard had put her through hell during the divorce proceedings—which had gone on for almost a year. And now six months later he wanted to put a ring on her finger. What if asking her to marry him compromised their relationship? The idea of losing her was so incredibly awful that he felt his stomach clench into a heavy knot. Andy almost jumped when he felt her hand gently rubbing his arm.

"You're awfully quiet," she coaxed.

"Am I? Sorry. I just don't want to miss the exit," he lied. His mouth felt like the Sahara desert. He felt as if he couldn't get enough air and nervously cracked his window.

Sharon leaned over and kissed his shoulder. "You smell so good," she breathed. "Any chance you're going to tell me where we're going?"

They were getting pretty close to L.A.'s opera house—the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Sharon would figure out their destination, no doubt, in a couple of minutes. She had moved her attention from his arm to his knee, which she was now rubbing with the flat of her palm.

"While your efforts at seducing me into revealing where we're going are very, very highly appreciated, ma'am, you are just going to have to be surprised."

Sharon's response was a quiet, defeated hum. While she stopped rubbing, she didn't take her hand away from his knee and Andy found himself extremely aware of her.

"Thank you for this, Andy. For taking me away….for always seeming to know what I need." Her voice caressed him.

The knot in Andy's stomach was turning into full-fledged nausea as they turned into the valet parking lot. Like the Met in New York City this opera house also had a famed fountain in front and it had been Andy's intention to propose in front of it after the opera.

He heard her sharp little intake of breath as realization dawned on her. "You're taking me to the opera?" Sharon asked. The lilting bubble of excitement in her voice should have calmed his nerves but it didn't. "Oh, Andy—that's so sweet." Her smile was soft and genuine. "I haven't been in years." Andy stopped the car for the valet, gave him the keys, and emerged from the car. Another valet had opened Sharon's door for her so all Andy had to do was walk over to her and take her arm.

Sharon nuzzled her lips against Andy's ear so that he could hear her above the hum of the fountain. It was a beautiful night with the lights from the opera house in the distance, the balmy breeze, and the starry sky above.

"What are we going to see?" she asked him. Her breath was soft and warm against his earlobe.

Sharon had begun to get a little worried. Andy was not himself. Usually he was chatty and funny, peppering her with jokes and stories. He was unusually quiet tonight, almost faltering, his face was pale, and when she reached for him to slide her hand into his, his touch was clammy.

"Marriage of Figaro," Andy answered. It had seemed like such a romantic choice at the time. First, because he knew it was Sharon's favorite opera and second because he was going to propose to her.

"Andy—are you all right?" Sharon's green eyes were focused on him and she looked absolutely worried.

"Yeah…yeah, I'm fine." Andy looked and sounded anything but fine. Sharon steered him over to a bench.

"Sit," she ordered. And she sounded like she meant it. "Andy honey, I don't like your color. You're not having any pain are you?" She looked as panicked as he felt as she looked him over.

 _Oh God._ Andy suddenly felt like a colossal idiot. Here he was having an anxiety attack over the prospect of possibly ruining their relationship with a premature marriage proposal and Sharon was looking at him like he was having a heart attack. Which, given the way he probably looked, was a very fair assumption. _Way to go, Flynn. Really smooth._

To make matters worse, an elderly couple sitting across from them on the opposite bench seemed fascinated by their interaction. So not only was he humiliating himself in front of Sharon, he was doing it in public, too. _Just great._

Sharon wasn't sure what she should go for first-the cell phone or the aspirin. She opened her purse frantically and began digging around for whichever she touched first, bottle or cell phone. Her shaky fingers had just closed on the metal device when Andy grabbed her wrist and looked directly into her eyes with an expression of pure supplication.

"Marry me," he said hoarsely. Sharon froze.

"Are you—is that what this-?"

"Yes," he managed with a dry laugh. "Real romantic." He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box. "I have a ring. This isn't how-." Andy had to catch his breath. "I love you so much. I know I'm not making any sense. This all seemed like such a good idea at the time and I'm making a horrible mess out of it because—"

"You changed your mind," Sharon finished for him.

"No…no That's not it at all, Sharon." How could he explain that what he wanted, more than anything else in the world, was her? Just her. Words simply wouldn't come. He had been reduced to a babbling idiot so he did the only sensible thing that could be done. Andy pulled her against him with tremendous force, cupping her face with both hands. He kissed her fiercely because he felt that the world had suddenly tilted upside down and she was the gravity that would right him.

"Andy—" Sharon breathed.

"I'm rushing you. I'm so sorry. I should have talked to you first. We don't have to do this now."

"Andy—"Sharon tried again.

"You don't have to say anything. Just don't—I don't want to lose you."

Sharon was meeting his searching gaze with an expression of pure, unadulterated affection. It wasn't the look of a woman who wanted out of a relationship. It was the look of a woman in love.

Before he could interrupt her again, she posed an urgent question. "Can I say yes?" she asked.

"You want to?"

"Yes, _I do,_ " she answered meaningfully. She smiled then.

The elderly couple across the way looked terribly confused by the entire baffling exchange. Any question though was cleared up when Andy opened up the box and slipped a diamond ring as tasteful and classy as she was on Sharon's left hand.


	3. Chapter 3

The opera was as fizzy and light as a glass of champagne. The singers brought out all of the frothy comedy in Mozart's masterpiece. Andy and Sharon chatted during the intermission about the opera house's amazing acoustics and they both marveled at how the singers could make themselves heard throughout the large hall even above the orchestra. Sharon was listening intently to Andy's explanation about the physics of sound and architecture as he linked the concepts to a baseball metaphor (which she found awfully adorable that he could make such a leap). All of a sudden, she grabbed his arm not too gently and squeezed.

"Oh my God, Andy, you're a genius."

Andy laughed and cocked his head to one side. "Well, yeah. But to what do I owe the compliment?" He gave her his trademark wide eyed boyish smile with a side of sexy that was completely irresistible.

Sharon's eyes lit up with excitement. "I think I know what bothers me about the 911 call I've been pondering over from one of my cases. It involves acoustics. I can't get into it here and I'll explain it to you after I get another chance to hear the call but you may have just given me a big break in my case." Sharon kissed him on the cheek.

"You can give me more of that genius stuff," Andy encouraged her, "you know anytime you feel like it." His face was awfully close to hers, so close that she could feel his smile against her own lips. Sharon sucked on his bottom lip. She couldn't help herself. How could she resist? With lips like his, it was practically a required regulation. Andy's lips were just made for kissing and Sharon Raydor always followed the rules.

As the lights dimmed down once more signaling that intermission was coming to a close, Sharon pressed her mouth against Andy's ear. "Mmmm, I think I'd like to give you a lot more than that, Andy." She bit her lip and attempted to compose herself but her hand wasn't being very obedient in the way she was running her fingertips along his thigh. "I wonder if Mozart would be scandalized if he knew what I wanted to do to you during his opera," Sharon pondered playfully as she traced slow random patterns from Andy's knee all the way up to the top of his thigh. He gave an involuntary shiver.

"Are you kidding? Didn't you see the movie _Amadeus_ , Shar? Mozart was a perv. He'd probably want to get in on the action."

Sharon let out a very undignified and completely unladylike giggle that seemed to ring breezily through the opera house, amplified by the very fine acoustics that the two of them had previously been praising. Sharon buried her face against Andy's shoulder to muffle the sound and laughed helplessly, her own shoulders shaking with mirth.

Her laughter was contagious. Andy giggled right along with her. "No, no…." Sharon protested. "One of us has to be the voice of reason."

"You're groping me during the final act of _Figaro_ and I'm supposed to be reasonable? Oh, honey," Andy whispered shaking his head, "reason flew out the window a long time ago." He rubbed her cheek affectionately. "But don't stop doing what you're doing."

The music began to pipe up as the final act began. "I'll be good," Sharon promised, barely suppressing another laugh.

"It's a little late for that," Andy observed pointing out the state of things on his lap. "Don't you think?"

"Do you want my program?" Sharon whispered, trying to be helpful.

Andy was almost offended. "I don't think your program is going to cover the problem. Just remember the basic law of physics. To all actions, there's a reaction. Or in your case...consequences."

When they did reach the privacy of their hotel room, it was Sharon who was all over Andy before the door had even completely closed. She gave it a firm little kick with the heel of her shoe and promptly grabbed the collar of his shirt, dragging Andy toward her. She kissed him hungrily and her hands seemed to be everywhere at once: cascading up and down the length of his chest, reaching around to stroke his back, cupping his ass and squeezing, molding him against her body. The problem that had finally diminished over the course of the last act of the opera quickly re-asserted itself with gusto.

In record time, she had gotten him out of his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Kissing his chest as she maneuvered him toward the bed, she promptly gave him a little push backwards and covered his body with her own, straddling him on the queen sized bed.

"I want you so badly," she informed him with a light press of her hips as she took his shirt off all the way and ran her perfectly French manicured hands up and down his bare chest.

"I noticed," he groaned raggedly. Andy reached around and tugged the zipper of her dress down. Sharon had to wiggle to pull it up past her hips and then over her head. She exaggerated her movements just to heighten the contact and she could feel him, hot and hard, pushing against her even through his pants and her underwear. Andy rubbed her thighs with both hands, making a lazy trail up around her now bare waist. She tossed her dress away. The dress was definitely going to be wrinkled. But that's what dry cleaners' were for.

"Show me how much," Andy said, his voice husky. He slid his hands up around her back and unclasped Sharon's bra in one fluid motion.

Sharon laughed and bent down to kiss him again. "That was an impressive maneuver, Mr. Flynn." She was breathing heavily.

"I aim to impress," he teased back then pulled her bra off and threw it behind him. He unabashedly admired her breasts with a brazen smile, taking them both into the palms of his hands and giving gentle, repeated squeezes.

"God, I love these things," he told her with rapt appreciation.

Andy was still wearing his slacks and his shoes. Sharon leaned down to unbutton and unzip his pants. "Stop getting lost in the scenery and catch up," she admonished him, giving his pants a firm downward tug.

"Get out of those panties and give me another reason to," he challenged back.

"You're still way behind." Moments later, a pair of little black and silk lace panties landed soundlessly above Andy's head, emphasizing Sharon's point. "I see the lady means business," Andy joked as he reluctantly removed his hands from her chest, shifted his position, and took off his shoes and socks.

"The lady does."

Andy pulled her back down against him. "What's gotten into you tonight?" he teased.

"Unfortunately, nothing yet."

"Oh, I'll fix that." Andy laughed.

Sharon smiled at him and slipped her soft hands through his salt and pepper hair then brought her fingertips down to caress his face. He playfully caught her thumb between his lips, kissed it, and then gave a gentle suck. Her little shiver of pleasure did not go unnoticed.

Andy caught her hand and laid it over his heart. "You are such a beautiful woman. Do you know that?"

Sharon shrugged. "Richard used to say that I was frigid." Her hair was a tousled red halo framing her face. Andy couldn't resist and kissed her long and hard before responding.

"Richard was an asshole and he definitely wasn't doing something right. A whole lot of somethings because…..you are definitely _not_ frigid, Sharon."

"Don't think you're going to distract me with flattery, Andrew, because I'm not done with you yet and you are still far too overdressed for the occasion." Sharon's voice rang with authority as she pulled his pants off and followed with his boxers. And she was terribly efficient about it, too, Andy noted with a little smile of admiration. That was his Sharon—meticulous to a fault.

Fully naked, Andy reached for her waist and Sharon felt a telltale tug as Andy made a movement to flip them over.

"Hey, Mr. Grabby hands," she scolded him and gripped his hands. " Up above your head where I can see them."

"Yes, ma'am; anything you say, ma'am." He obediently moved his hands up and tucked them behind his head but his look was decidedly defiant. Andy was so tempted to flip her over anyway and ravish her right then and there.

"Do you surrender?" Sharon asked him. She bent over his body and kissed a path down his chest, stopping just above his navel. When he didn't answer, she darted her tongue out between her soft lips and licked a slow circle around his belly button.

"Do you?" she repeated. Andy could only groan in response. Did she really expect him to answer?

"I'm going to take that as a yes." Sharon continued to plant tiny kisses along his abdomen while a soft hand reached out to stroke his erection. Andy closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her perfume while her hand wrapped around him, moving with a torturous but decadent slowness.

His groan was guttural when he felt her lips and tongue tracing the path that her hands had taken. Andy absolutely had to touch her then. His hands moved from their resting place and flew to her hair. She didn't stop him but simply wrapped her lips around him while her hands and tongue continued to tease and stroke and caress. Andy was perfectly still except for the loving sweep of his own hands through the silk of her hair.

Several delicious minutes ticked by. "God, Sharon. You have to stop, baby. I can't —"

Sharon paused for a moment and planted a solitary kiss against his tip. She looked up at him with those luminous green-grey eyes of hers. Her soft hand continued its steady rhythm along his length. "Let me do this for you, Andy. Can you let me? Just enjoy it." Before he could say another word, she dipped her head back down and her mouth was around him again. His rapt groans encouraged her, spurred her on; she wanted this for him. Her eager mouth surrounded him until he was completely spent. It was so good. Utterly perfect. It was bliss.

She snuggled up against his chest when he was finished and leaned into him. Contentment radiated off of him in waves and she drank in the heady feel of it, enjoying the fact that she could give that to him. Andy tipped her head up toward him and he kissed her. This kiss was slow and desperately tender.

He held her, lightly caressing the hourglass curve of her waist. His lazy caresses became more pronounced as Andy slowly began to touch her more boldly, inching his hands up and down her body. His hands traveled down her stomach and dipped in between her thighs. He leaned over her body and brought his face close to hers, kissing her neck and then simply propping his head near her so that he could watch the changing expressions on her face while he touched her. It was the height of intimacy and Sharon found the intensity of his focus extremely erotic.

His motions followed the need and rhythm that she dictated with the little movements of her body and the soft sounds of her moans. He knew her well enough now to pick up on her signals and respond to what she needed. He was only too happy to do so. Fingers plunged inside of her, sometimes deep and slow, sometimes quick and hard. His thumb brushed against her clit rolling in circles. He was torn between wanting to slide down and taste her and his desire to continue watching her flushed face and parted lips.

"I love watching you come," Andy rumbled in her ear as he continued to touch her, "and knowing that it's for me."

That did it. His words and intimate caresses pushed her over the edge and she shattered into a thousand pieces, little spasms wracking her body as he held her through them, whispering hushed words of encouragement. He slowed just enough to keep her on the edge and then plunged his fingers into her a second time until she came apart again with even more intensity than the first. That second time he nibbled and sucked on her neck in time with the movement of his hand and her cries were so loud that Andy half expected a call from the front desk.

They nestled into the pillows together. "I think we give couples half our age a run for their money," Sharon giggled.

"And then some," Andy agreed. "The night is still young, I say we nap and then go for another round."

"I'm game," Sharon agreed. A moment later she yawned and stretched contentedly. "Mmmmmmm. Did you remember to ask for a wake up call?"

"Yup. You know, I was thinking."

Sharon kissed his jaw. "Uh oh."

"We should definitely go to the opera more often."

Sharon laughed loudly remembering the final act.

Andy twirled a lock of red hair around his fingers. "You just snorted."

Her voice was prim. "Lies and slander; I don't snort."

"Do you have any idea how much I enjoy spending time with you?" Andy nuzzled her and kissed her forehead. She responded by snuggling more deeply into his arms, tipping her head to look directly into his eyes.

"I think I have a pretty good idea."


	4. Chapter 4

_Peter, Peter pumpkin eater,_

_Had a wife but couldn't keep her;_

_He put her in a pumpkin shell_

_And there he kept her very well._

There is a tremendous amount of power in something as simple as a signature. One such seemingly innocent scrawl in black flair pen made nearly a year ago would end up having a significant impact on the lives of Andy Flynn and Sharon Raydor. The signature in question belonged to one Dr. Rosemary Lindt. It was seven signatures, to be exact, written on seven different forms, all signed and dotted by the ambitious psychiatrist who approved the release of one particular patient.

Erik Korski was the jewel in Dr. Lindt's four year study, an intelligent and articulate man whom she felt had been rehabilitated, through her brilliant and innovative care of course. His case was the crowning glory in a series of articles that she had published in three academic journals on the benefits of art therapy for patients with a variety of psychological disorders. A certain sense of classic hubris accompanied the quick flick of the pen that flew over the forms releasing Korski once more back into the general population.

The name Erik Korski would not draw an immediate memory connection for Andy Flynn. He'd investigated so many cases, seen so many unusual things, bumped heads with so many criminals over the years that sometimes they ran together like diluted watercolors from an overcrowded palette. Korski had held his ex-girlfriend Julia Varady against her will for nearly four days. It was her worried family had reported her missing. A younger Flynn and his partner at the time had found her and arrested Erik Korski for kidnapping nearly twenty years ago. He'd gotten off on a PTSD insanity plea and had spent the past twenty years in and out of mental hospitals. He had never completely forgotten the cavalier cop who had arrested him, interrogated him and scathingly referred to him as "a real wackjob." It was, in fact, one of the many incidents referred to in Flynn's rather hefty file of potential conduct infractions.

Korski was a checker at the local _Food 4 Less_ where Flynn had stopped in recently to pick up some produce on sale. He didn't recognize Korski but Korski recognized him. It's easy to pull an address up from the little key chain scan card and Korski merely held onto the information for a few weeks as he thought more and more about the past—about Julia and the case. It gave him an odd little thrill to have one up on the cop who thought he was so clever, and so on one mild summer night, he drove by Flynn's house.

And that's when he saw _her_ , the pretty redhead who always looked like she'd stepped out of a Macy's ad. She wasn't the kind of woman Korski would have thought would be interested in Andy Flynn. Oh, but she clearly was. At first, he caught only glimpses of them together, coming home from work, sometimes leaving in the morning. They almost seemed to be touching all the time, even when they weren't, their eyes brushing over one another even when their hands were still.

As time passed, he grew bolder. That foolish kid would forget to close the garage door and the wide window in the den afforded a particularly easy view. The woman liked to read, curled up on quiet afternoons on the L shaped couch. He'd watch her iron Flynn's clothes and press the collar of his shirts against her cheek. He'd seen him pull her down onto the sofa, the pair of them then out of sight-but Korski didn't have to watch them to know what they were doing.

It began to twist inside him like it had with Julia—the wanting. And that's all he'd wanted with Julia—a relationship as ideal and flawless as glass. He hadn't hurt her, not really. He wanted that simple perfection, that unattainable dance of courtly love. Petrarch and Laura. Dante and Beatrice. The ideal woman and the man who adored her. Andy Flynn had poisoned his relationship with his lovely Julia Varady with innuendo and accusations. He didn't understand. And Korski had lost her, irrevocably. And here was that snide cop with the flashing eyes and cocky grin and yet he possessed this lovely creature that he didn't deserve. He hated him. In many moments he even hated her, too, for choosing Andy Flynn. They laughed at him in their untouchable little bubble of sugary storybook happiness.

It would have continued to go on like that, Erik Korski watching, lurking, prowling….he was content to observe. It fueled his imagination.

But then he was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. _Six or seven months at most._

So he made a bucket list. And he decided that what he really wanted was to take something away from the arrogant Andy Flynn, something precious and irreplaceable.

He would take her.

He would keep her.

And he wouldn't have to die alone.

Maybe he could even convince her to love him.

He had, after all, nothing to lose.

* * *

Pale morning light streamed through the hotel curtains. "Andy, wake up." Sharon sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over him giving him a very gentle shake. He growled like a wounded lion and reached for her hands.

"Burrrr, your hands are freezing," complained Andy. He opened one eye and looked her over. "You're dressed," he added disapprovingly.

"Well, we should probably start to get moving if we're going to meet Rusty for brunch at 11:30."

Andy looked at the clock. "It's only 9:45." He grabbed her and pulled her into bed. "Get your pretty little ass over here, Raydor." Upon closer physical inspection he realized that she wasn't dressed after all. She was wearing her ice blue silk robe and Andy made quick work of the sash. He was gratified to discover that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. His smile was devilish.

"I _am_ a little cold," she protested as he slipped off her robe.

"Which is exactly why you need to get naked."

"That makes perfect sense," Sharon said sarcastically.

"Survival training 101." He flipped her over onto her back and lay on top of her, pinning her wrists against the bed. "I'm sharing body heat with you. That's the kind of considerate, sweet, altruistic man that you are going to marry. Besides, what happened to the famous round two we talked about?"

"Um…we slept through it?"

"I'm very, very awake now," Andy assured her. He traced random swirls with his index finger against her tummy. He kissed her throat. "Plus I bet I can warm you up." Sharon took in an unsteady breath as he kissed a slow path down in between her breasts.

"Well….I suppose it _is_ good exercise," reasoned Sharon.

"You're so fucking sexy when you're practical. Sex is also educational," Andy improvised.

Sharon quirked an eyebrow at him. "Educational?"

"I have a few moves up my sleeve that I haven't unveiled yet if you think you can handle them." He planted a playful kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Oh, you think so? I can handle anything that you bring my way."

* * *

Andy made sure he had Sharon in the car by ten past eleven. She hated to be late, a quality that he shared, although he was a little more relaxed about it than she was. Sharon seemed to possess an internal clock that functioned without the need for watches or external clocks. At the hotel, he had made her lose track of time and he was the one who made sure they left when they should. It was good to see her relax like that; he loved watching her let go.

"You sure you don't want me to drive?" Sharon asked before she buckled her seat belt.

"Uh no. No offense, but you drive like my grandmother, God rest her soul."

"I merely obey the rules of the road," Sharon told him with a teasing little air of superiority.

"And you're an excellent driver because of it, honey." Andy deftly changed the subject. "So you want to tell me about that case and the acoustics thing?"

"The husband said that he made the 911 call from the bedroom upstairs where they found the body. But there was an echo, not an electronic echo but an echo from the room, like he was in an open space. They were renovating their living room; it was empty. I think that he lied about where he was when he made the call. Of course that doesn't prove that he killed her but…"

…"he's hiding something," finished Andy. "He'd remember where he was when he made a call like that."

"I think so, too."

"Besides, to quote Provenza, 'it's always the husband.'" They both said it in unison and chuckled.

Rusty was playing Xbox when they arrived at the house, dressed and ready to go. "Hey, you two," he greeted them. "Did you have a good time at the opera?"

"We did," said Sharon. "Watch your flank," she advised looking at the television screen as an enemy tried to sneak up on Rusty.

"Have you seen Sharon play 'Call of Duty?'" Rusty asked Andy. "She's good."

Andy laughed. "Yeah, I know she is. Once she made a 12 year old boy cry like a little girl."

"I did not; don't listen to him."

Andy and Rusty exchanged knowing glances. Sharon got a little bit competitive when it came to multiplayer gaming.

"Sharon got a new ring," Andy told Rusty with a grin. Andy clasped Sharon's hand and made her wave it.

Rusty saw the sparkle of the diamond and he tossed his controller aside. He reached for her hand and admired the ring.

"Way to go, Andy! Are you two going to have a big wedding and everything?"

Andy and Sharon exchanged an uncertain look. "I don't know," Sharon said thoughtfully. "We haven't discussed that part yet but I'd rather do something simple."

"I don't care what we do as long as you say those two little magic words," said Andy.

"I'm hungry? Because I really am."

"Cute, Sharon. You're about as romantic as Provenza," Andy chided. He put an arm around Rusty and one around her. "Let's feed Mama Bear before she gets cranky."


	5. Chapter 5

The following Friday, Andy and Provenza went to go see the Dodgers play against the Chicago Cubs. Andy watched a couple of guys sloshing their way to their seats an hour into the game and he decided that he was glad he no longer drank. He was just fine with his hot dog and fruit punch in its oversized plastic cup. The weather was ideal for baseball with a summer sky fringed with gold, lavender and hints of coral as the sun began its lazy descent.

"So you're going to marry Raydor," Provenza mumbled, leaning back into the bleacher. He couldn't hide the small smile that forced the corners of his lips to turn upwards. "Hell of a thing."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" agreed Andy. His smile was broad, a big, goofy lopsided grin that he wouldn't have been able to conceal if his life depended on it. The smile completely dominated his features. He was a grinning fool and he didn't feel a shred of shame.

"You're good together," Provenza admitted in a rare moment of simple sincerity that was as close to warmth as he got. "Even if she is the Wicked Witch," he added gruffly. "How did all the wee ones take the news?"

"Rusty's thrilled. Sharon's son Ryan and his wife Elle are glad. Kate's coming around, slowly." Kate was Sharon's daughter and she was suspicious of Andy, not at all fond of the idea of her mother remarrying.

"Does she still call you 'Lieutenant Flynn?'"

"Most of the time. I get an Andy once in a while; it's progress. I take what I can get. My kids, Joe and Kara, are happy for me, Kara especially."

"Set a date yet?"

"No. We're still deciding how we want to do this. We're not young. Neither of us wants a fuss. We might just march down to City Hall and do it."

"There are laws against that. Cowards, both of you."

"Ah, so you'd rather we had a big to-do?" Andy asked with surprise.

"Free food and entertainment and lots of tipsy, loose women. The joy of witnessing you being a nervous wreck fidgeting in a tux. Hell, yeah."

"You just might get your wish; Shar's sister Samantha is already putting a lot of pressure on her to have some kind of a ceremony or party."

Provenza laughed. "Who is she dressed up as these days?" Sharon's twin sister was very wealthy and very eccentric. She imitated the appearance of famous deceased Hollywood actresses. Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Montgomery had been recent favorites.

"No one, actually. Just herself."

"I have to meet this woman one of these days, although it's frightening to think that there's a carbon copy of Sharon Raydor on the loose."

"It's easy to tell them apart. They're very different and—" Andy's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from Sharon.

_Just got home from work. I have the house to myself; Rusty's out with friends. Hope you're enjoying the game._

Andy punched a hasty text back. _I am. Your plans?  
_

_Light supper and then a bubble bath._

_Enjoy yourself. You deserve some R & R. Save me a kiss.  
_

_Yes, sir._

"While you send messages of undying love to your future blushing bride, I'm going to head down to the snack bar for some nachos. Want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks."

Provenza pointed a finger at him. "No sexting, you crazy kids."

* * *

Sharon grilled some chicken and put the pieces on a bed of spinach greens with some feta cheese, red peppers, black olives, and Greek dressing. After eating, she sank down on the sofa and took her shoes off, giving a slow stretch. It had been a long day and she had a slight headache but it wasn't so terrible that she felt she'd need to take anything for it. Hopefully, a long, relaxing bath would solve the problem.

Sharon lit some scented candles and placed them on the vanity in the bathroom. She flicked on the stereo and the overture from _The Marriage of Figaro_ played softly. She hummed along as she filled the tub up with water so warm that it was nearly hot but not so much as to be uncomfortable. She added her favorite lavender and vanilla bubble bath and it wasn't long before the tub was filled with water and bubbles. She was just about to undress when she heard a loud clang of metal from the garage.

With an angry exhale, Sharon rushed back into the den and hastily slipped back into her heels. Rusty had a habit of leaving the garage door open; it wasn't completely his fault. The button could be sticky. Andy kept meaning to fix it but there were so many other little household projects that they had been working on, it wasn't a priority. Usually, it wasn't an issue if you just remembered to push down hard on the control. But Rusty was young and carefree when he'd hop into his car, music blaring. Without even a second thought, Sharon attributed the disturbance in the garage to a raccoon that had crept in on more than one occasion, a monstrosity of an animal that was also clever enough to pull the tops of the garbage cans off. Sharon was not in the mood to sift through a smelly pile of shredded trash so when she heard the telltale sound of metal hitting the garage floor, she sped to the side door.

She banged loudly on the door before opening it, hoping to startle the animal. She then proceeded to open the door. She expected to see the raccoon darting away or wreaking its usual havoc over by the trash cans. But what she saw instead was an unfamiliar black Jeep parked behind her Audi in the garage. The garage door had, indeed, been left open. She had only a moment to register the peculiarity of the Jeep when something hard hit her on the right side of her head. She saw her tall male attacker through a painfully blotchy haze of white and silver stars. The surprise blow had thrown her off balance, as it was intended to do, and as her defenses kicked in, her attacker covered her mouth and nose with a soaked white cloth. He was slightly off the mark but he hit his target enough for her to choke on the acrid substance. It burned her nose and throat. She gagged reflexively, choking on the scream that might have alerted help. The man had grabbed her wrist from behind and attempted to hold the cloth over her face for a longer duration.

But Sharon fought him. She jabbed his foot with the sharp heel of her stiletto and her assailant winced, bringing his foot up. She balled her hands into fists and straightened them outward making it harder for him to grab her arms. With as much force as she was able to unleash with her 5'6 frame, she elbowed him hard in the center of his chest and managed to escape the hold with the swift maneuver. But her head was reeling and her vision was beginning to blur from the effects of the chloroform. A wave of nausea and dizziness completely took over her senses and she staggered, struggling to keep her focus and her balance. He was tall, six feet at least—bulky. Gray hair and piercing blue eyes. They would have been beautiful if not for the look of calculating menace in their icicle-depths.

He was on her within the next second, knocking her to the ground with one fell swoop. He toppled her with pure brute force. The concrete floor was hard on the back of her head. This time Sharon didn't see stars. She saw spots. Black spots like rainy ink blots searing through her vision. Sharon screamed as loud as she could but even her voice felt as if it were in slow motion, elusive and outside of herself. Still, she clawed and fought with every ounce of remaining strength and lucidity. His face would bear the scratches. As the spots multiplied across her eyes and the room warped into kaleidoscopic chaos, Sharon did the one last thing that she could do.

She reached for a fistful of his hair and pulled before the cloth came down on her face again. She had enough conscious control to release the hairs onto the garage floor before the ink blots turned into a river of unending darkness in the feral night.

* * *

When Andy arrived home, the first thing he noticed was that the garage door was open. As he pulled his car in behind Sharon's, he could see that the door leading into the house was also open. It was late for Sharon to be fiddling around in the garage but he wasn't alarmed. When Sharon got it in her head to pursue a project, there was no stopping her.

What did stop him in his tracks was one black Stuart Weitzman high heel pump that lay in the path from Andy's car to the side door. Sharon was not one to leave her shoes about and there was no way she'd be traipsing around in those. Andy had the sudden ominous feeling that something was very, very wrong.

"Sharon," he called. He didn't wait for an answer. He rushed through the house. The glow of candlelight coming from the bathroom made him pause. Peering inside, he observed the full bathtub. The bubbles had long since dissipated and the candles were burned down to stubs. Sharon would never leave candles unattended; not ever.

"Sharon! Sharon!" Andy checked every room, afraid of what he might find. Without further hesitation, he reached for his cell phone and called Sharon. Maybe Rusty had arrived home before him and there was some kind of emergency and they had to leave in a hurry. Almost immediately, he heard her familiar cell phone ring; it led him to the coffee table in the den. Her phone was inside her purse with her car keys. Andy quickly dialed 911 from his own phone. His voice didn't sound like his own when he spoke. It just wasn't possible on such a mundane little evening of bubbles and baseball. It was surreal, unimaginable, a nightmare. He investigated crimes like this; he didn't live them.

"I think someone's taken my fiancée." Even the words were impossible.

As Andy waited for the police to arrive, he barely resisted the urge to investigate the house. The less he disturbed the better. He had seen plenty of crime scenes where potential leads or evidence were destroyed in the wake of well intentioned families and loved ones. Andy was strangely calm, the shock and disbelief dulling the full strength of his emotional response. There had to be some mistake. Sharon couldn't just vanish. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Andy found Brenda Lee Johnson's phone number in his contacts and hit the little green button.

"Well hi Andy," drawled Brenda Lee in her lilting southern accent.

"Brenda, I need...Sharon's missing. I think...I think there's been foul play. I just called it in; the police are on their way over. I don't want to...I don't think I can..."

"I'm gettin' in my car right now. You want me to stay on the line with you while you wait?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

Andy took a deep breath. He had to stay calm. "Louie and I went to the Dodgers' game. Sharon was home by herself. She texted me during the game that she was going to relax and take a bath. I get home and the garage door is open and so is the side door leading from the garage into the house. One of her shoes was in the garage. I didn't see the other one but maybe...I don't know. The bath is full of water but all of the bubbles are evaporated and I know if I dipped a finger in there the water would be cold. She lit...candles. She does that sometimes." Andy's voice cracked. "They're burned down almost completely."

"Where's Rusty?"

"He went out with some friends...the kid's not home yet."

"Well, it is possible," reasoned Brenda, "that there was some kind of emergency and Rusty and Sharon took his car. Maybe he arrived home before you and something happened?"

"Sharon wouldn't leave lit candles."

Brenda had to agree; even in the most dire of circumstances, the meticulous rule-abiding Sharon Raydor would not leave the house with burning candles.

"Andy, we'll figure it out, okay? I know you know this but...don't touch anything."

"Yeah. Yeah. I think the police are here. I gotta go."


	6. Chapter 6

Rusty saw the two police cars parked on the side of the street before he even reached the house. Normally, he wouldn't have thought too much of it, living with two cops. But it was quarter to twelve at night. This was clearly not a social call. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the ominous sight of yellow police tape along the line of the property. Andy was standing out front talking to a police officer. Rusty parked hastily, grabbed his keys, and rushed out of the car. For a fleeting second, he worried that maybe he was in trouble; his past still reared its ugly head now and then even though he led an entirely different life these days. Practically running, he made his way toward Andy.

When Andy saw him, the first thing out of his mouth was, "You didn't answer your phone." The tone was uncharacteristically accusatory.

"My phone was off," explained Rusty, "I was at the movies."

"Have you seen or heard from Sharon?" pleaded Andy. Hope flickered tremulously across his pale face.

"No. What's going on? Where's Sharon?"

Andy didn't answer. He couldn't. Saying it would make it real and this couldn't be. Sharon always warned him about food from the snack bar at the stadium. When she attended games, she'd have her small blue lunch satchel with a cold pack filled with those little chicken salad sandwiches with the walnuts and cranberry that she made, all neatly wrapped in Ziploc bags and lined up in little rows. They'd be packed against a canister of freshly brewed iced tea. He should never have eaten that hot dog so late. _Please let this be an ingestion-induced nightmare. Please, God. Let me wake up. Bring her back to me._

"Andy?" prompted Rusty desperately. Another cop walked hurriedly out of the garage toward them with Brenda Lee Johnson by his side.

"Chief," the cop said urgently to the one that Andy had been talking to, "we've uh..we've found something in the garage." He wouldn't look at Andy.

"What did you find?" prompted Andy.

"Sir," the cop said, "we'll share information with you once we have something solid—"

Andy grabbed his collar and pulled. His features were a mask of fury and desperation. "What the fuck did you find in the garage?"

Brenda grabbed Andy's arm. "Andy, you're not going to do her any good if you get yourself thrown outta here. Come on now." Her voice was simultaneously sharp and soothing. "Come on with me and I'll explain what's going on."

Andy released the cop. The other one spoke, "Chief Johnson, we all admire your work but this isn't protocol." He cleared his throat uncomfortably, "your being here."

"Then make it protocol, Chief Finley," cooed Brenda, "We've got a cop MIA and we need every available resource to find her. I'm available. She's my former colleague and my friend and I'm not goin' anywhere without a formal order."

Finley liked Johnson. She was ten years his senior and she'd even trained him at one point. If it were any other cop, he would have tossed them out immediately. But damn, she was helpful and knowledgeable. She'd already made a couple of observations that his team had missed. Whether or not it was protocol for her to be there, Johnson was the best, not to mention the fact that she was, at present, the only thing keeping Lieutenant Flynn from completely flying off the handle.

Brenda steered Andy away from the crowd of cops. Rusty followed. She rounded on Andy immediately. "Raydor would be the first person to tell you to keep your head together, Flynn, and you know it. You want to help her? You calm down and let those folks do their job." It was just the kind of advice Andy needed. If she'd been even remotely empathetic, he would have fallen apart. He felt like a tattered quilt of faded, battered cloth-the pieces barely holding together with frayed threads.

"Can someone please tell me what is going on?" Rusty begged. "What's happened to Sharon?"

"We don't know," said Brenda softly. "When Andy came home, Sharon was not here. He found one of her shoes in the garage and both the side door and the garage door were left open. The bathtub was filled with water and she'd lit a few candles; they were still lit and burning down to stubs. We have reason to believe that Sharon was kidnapped, honey."

"No…no…," whispered Rusty.

Brenda looked from one stricken face to the other. Rusty's expression was one of shock; he was still processing the information, trying to make sense out of something that was inconceivable. Andy just looked angry, like he wanted to consume everything in his path until he found her.

"We all need to stay focused and calm. I know this is extremely emotional for you both but we need to keep clear heads so we can solve this thing and bring her home."

Andy grabbed Brenda's wrist. "What did they find, Brenda?" he rasped.

Brenda looked into the blazing fire in Andy's eyes and knew that there would be no stalling. She answered him squarely. "Blood. A few drops of blood on the garage floor by the side door."

* * *

A stranger's hands were cupping Sharon's face when she came to. Her return to consciousness would have been a slow thing but those alien hands brushing against her face brought on a surge of adrenaline and she jolted awake, eyes flying about the dimly lit room in panic. She felt a throbbing in her head mingled with a violent nausea; the nausea affected her entire body, but was most concentrated in her head and in her stomach. Her mouth was dry and there was a bad taste. She quickly realized that the cotton feeling in her mouth was literal. There was a gag in between her lips and over her mouth, the strip of cloth wrapped around her head. She was tied to a chair with her hands bound behind her back. She felt cold metal against her wrists. Handcuffs. Her feet were also bound together with metal cuffs. Trained police officer or not, panic crashed over her in waves. She moved her head and instantly regretted it. An involuntary groan escaped her lips as her green eyes focused on the blue eyes of her captor. He was leaning over her staring at her intently. His hands had traveled from her face to her hair. Sharon recoiled in disgust, although there was nowhere for her to go and even the smallest of movements made her stomach heave in protest.

"You're awake. Good," Erik announced. There was an aura of pride in his voice. "I'd like to remove the gag, Mrs. Raydor, but I don't like screaming. I find it….upsetting. It's useless anyway as there is no one to hear you. Can you promise not to scream?"

Sharon made a quiet noise of assent, too afraid that if she moved her head even a fraction of an inch, she would vomit.

As he untied the gag from the back and removed it, Sharon closed her eyes as if that would blot out the entire experience. Of course, it didn't and it couldn't. The feeling that rose in her throat was pure revulsion. And she did have to resist the urge to scream, whether or not she could be heard. Her body and her mind rebelled completely against being held like this against her will. Another feeling began to bubble up alongside the fear and disgust-hatred. She focused on that and allowed that feeling to dull the others that would be detrimental to her survival-the terror and the fear. Hatred would server her far better. _Breathe. Just breathe. That's all you have to do. Slow deep breaths in and out. Nothing else. You're all right. Just breathe._

Sharon's captor sat down in a chair across from her. She felt slightly less panicked once he was further away and she concentrated on her breathing. She moved her head and the room spun.

"I think I'm going to throw up," she stated matter-of-factly. Her voice sounded foreign to her, thick and raspy. The man dashed out of the room and returned with a small green basin which he held out for her. In moments, Sharon lost the meager contents in her stomach. The man left the room and took the basin away. He returned with a damp cloth and a plastic cup filled with water. He wiped her mouth with the damp washcloth. He looked pleased with himself as he did it. Sharon closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw the glint of metal. Sharon's eyes widened and she stiffened.

He had a knife. It was a large, sharp serrated knife—-a hunting knife.

"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Raydor. I don't want to hurt you. I _will_ hurt you, however, if you try to escape."

_Mrs. Raydor…..why did he keep calling her that?_

The man brought the knife toward Sharon and she flinched and braced herself for pain. She felt too sick to even begin to fight him and knew that whatever he was going to do to her, she did not have the physical strength or coordination to stop him.

With one motion, he cut the rope that bound her to the chair.

"You should lie down," he told her. "I'm going to move your hands from being bound in the back to the front but if you do anything stupid, I will cut a major artery and I will leave you here to bleed to death. I hope that is very clear. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the handcuffs and brought Sharon's wrists in front of her. He then re-locked the cuffs and put the key back into his pocket.

"A little better? I do want you to be comfortable."

Sharon merely glared at him. "Does this have something to do with my ex-husband?" she asked. Richard had amassed quite a bit of gambling debt and she wondered if the man was a thug holding her for ransom money. The joke was on him because Richard was in some serious financial trouble.

He smiled at her. "No. Why would you think that?"

"You keep calling me Mrs. Raydor."

"I was merely being polite; we haven't been formerly introduced yet."

He had hit her over the head, kidnapped her, drugged her with chloroform or some other knockout agent, and threatened to hack her into little pieces. Breach of etiquette was certainly the least of his indiscretions. The irony was laughable. But the situation was anything but.

"My name is Erik Korski. And you're Sharon Raydor. I'd like to call you Sharon. You can certainly call me Erik." He made it sound so sinister. Sharon's stomach clenched. She said nothing.

"What did you hit me with?" she asked. Her head throbbed.

"Ah yes…that was regrettable. A golf club. You should rest, Sharon. Can you stand?"

Sharon attempted to stand up but her legs felt like lead. She would have fallen but Erik came to support her. She would rather have fallen. He lifted her and carried her over to a twin bed in a corner of the windowless room and sat her down.

"There's a bathroom over there." He nodded to the right. "Just don't forget that your feet are cuffed. I don't want you to fall." He placed the cup of water on the end table beside the bed.

"What do you want?" Sharon was grateful he was no longer touching her. She could handle anything else but his hands on her made her skin crawl.

He seemed to blush at the question, his entire demeanor shifting from menacing detachment to shy introvert.

"You, Sharon."

* * *

Brenda stood next to Chief Finley and went over the preliminary report from forensics. They had found a golf club that belonged to Andy under Sharon's car. No prints. The traces of blood, they discovered, belonged to Sharon. They had also found traces of a chloroform-like substance, probably homemade. Rusty had admitted that he believed that he may have left the garage door open so they had a pretty good idea about how the intruder had gotten access.

"I think you should secure the entire house as a crime scene," suggested Brenda. "This was clearly premeditated. He knew the house and there are chances that he may have even been in it at one time. I would check everything for prints. I also want to have a thorough look outside. They found several strands of hair in the garage-that do not belong to Sharon, Lieutenant Flynn, or Rusty, almost a clump of hair from the same head. I think she pulled them out of the kidnapper's head when he was attacking her. Unfortunately, there's no match in the database." Brenda sighed.

"The garbage cans were tipped over," Brenda explained. "I don't think that happened during the struggle; they're on the other side of the garage. I think that's how he lured her out here. He parked in the open garage, tipped the cans to lure her out, hid behind the door, and whacked her in the head with the golf club. They struggled. He used the chloroform on her and dragged her to his vehicle, which is when I suspect she lost her shoe."

"Someone had to have seen him pull into her garage...a neighbor, somebody-the car would seem familiar, especially if he's been coming to the house to watch them, as you suspect."

"Have some officers go door to door; if we can find out what kind of car he was driving, we can check cameras on that intersection on Sierra, maybe get a plate, see his face, get some other identifying details."

"It's 3:00 in the morning. Hell of a time to go door to door."

"I don't care what time it is. We need to get to her as soon as possible. Until we get some more detailed reports from forensics...we need something to go on."

"They're checking for skid marks."

Brenda nodded. "Good. Did you track down her ex-husband?"

"Yeah. He has a good alibi. He was speaking at a hospital dinner in San Diego. Leading a Q & A session for a panel of former jurors to help hospital risk management get a better handle on medical malpractice suits. I told Flynn to keep his phone nearby at all times in case there's a ransom call. I don't think whomever took her wants money though. Too sloppy for that and much easier ways to get it."

"I agree," admitted Brenda as she rose to go over to check on Andy.

Andy and Rusty were having a heated conversation. Rusty looked like he'd been crying and Andy looked out of his mind with grief. They had all been drinking copious amounts of coffee to stay alert. Emotions were running high and tempers were flaring.

"I'm so sorry, Andy," Brenda heard Rusty say. "If I hadn't left the garage door open then, maybe none of this would have ever happened."

"Yeah, well...we'll never know, will we?" Andy seethed and promptly walked away.

Brenda watched the young man who seemed to crumple from the outside in as he just stared mutely at Andy's retreating figure. She could see the remorse, guilt, and pain on his face.

"He didn't mean it, Rusty," Brenda assured him and pulled him into her arms.

"Well, even if he didn't, he should. He's right. It is my fault."

"Oh, honey, no. If this person had wanted to get in badly enough, they would've found a way. It was an accident. Andy's scared, Rusty. He's worried and he's angry at her attacker and he doesn't know how to deal with it. He's lashing out blindly; he doesn't mean it. He loves you and I know that when he's thinking more clearly, he's going to feel terrible about what he just said."

"Why would somebody do this?"

Brenda held Rusty's hands in both of hers. "I don't know, sweetheart. We're going to find her, okay? We will. You just hang in there."


	7. Chapter 7

Sharon fell asleep almost immediately after lying down. She woke up several hours later. It took her many minutes to sit up and she still felt violently nauseated. She realized that she probably had a concussion and her biggest fear was that there would be permanent trauma. She was still dressed in the clothes that she had worn to work that day….but what day was it? She remembered the attack in the garage but she couldn't remember what had happened before that, or where Andy and Rusty had been. She remembered eating lunch in the break room with Provenza and Sykes at work but after that, everything was fuzzy. Running her hands over her scalp, she discovered a large, painful bump on the right side of her head, under the hairline. She remembered the chloroform and the struggle on the floor but it was all fragmented and jumbled, like scattered pieces of a puzzle.

She began reciting the elements from the periodic table both to calm her nerves and to test her memory. _Helium, Lithium, Sodium, Potassium….I always hated chemistry._ She switched to US presidents. _George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, James Monroe, John Quincy Adams, Andrew Jackson, Martin van…_

Sharon took a moment to observe her surroundings. For the first time, she realized that she was not in a house. The room she was in was fairly good sized, windowless, and had a cement floor. Some kind of an industrial building maybe? A naked light bulb hung down from a partially gutted ceiling and gave her the only frail light in the dreary room. There were no objects in the room except for the twin bed, a small end table, and a metal folding chair. Her first thought when noticing the chair was that it could be used as a possible weapon and she wondered how much damage she could do to him with it. None, at the moment. She could barely keep her head up let alone lift anything. She considered exploring the bathroom but when she attempted to stand she was hit with an immediate wave of dizziness.

Sharon whispered: _Martin van Buren, William Henry Harrison, John Tyler, James K. Polk…._

Looking down, Sharon saw the cuffs around her feet. Her range of movement would be terribly limited. She was wearing pink terrycloth bedroom slippers that did not belong to her and were two sizes too big. She had no idea where they had come from. She felt a heaviness forming in her chest that would herald the beginning of tears. She bit her lip and swallowed. She would not cry. This was a dire situation, yes, but she was all right. _You're okay. You're okay. You're okay._ _Just breathe._ _Zachary Taylor, Millard Filmore, James Buchanan…no there was someone else before Buchanan. Millard Filmore, Millard Filmore…._

The sound of footsteps set her heart racing. They came closer, shuffling. And then the heavy, metallic sound of a dead bolt and the staccato click of a door.

* * *

Andy looked at his watch. 8:02 AM. They estimated that Sharon had been taken sometime after 8:00 PM, shortly after her last text message to him. _Save me a kiss_ , he had written and then her light response had followed: _Yes, sir._ Andy buried his face in his hands. It would be nearly twelve hours. Half a day. He had never experienced anything even close to what he was feeling right now at any other time in his life. It was a feeling worse than depression, somewhat similar to grief, but far more potent. The not knowing wrapped itself insidiously around his heart, clenching and twisting and squeezing and taunting. Case after case of abducted women floated through his mind in mental images, black and white typed words on case files, photographs enlarged on a monitor to show before a jury. He knew that the first twenty-four hours were the most crucial, when everything hung precariously in the balance, and the discovery of one seemingly insignificant clue could mean the difference between life and death.

He'd tried going door to door with Provenza but his desperation made people afraid to open up. People don't take kindly to having someone pounding on their front door at five o'clock in the morning. Some still-rational part of his brain knew that he was being unreasonable but he couldn't control himself. He was drowning and the only thing that he could see was her face.

And her shoe.

How many times had he watched her kick her shoes off at the end of the day, and then half-pull her into his lap on the couch? Sometimes he'd take her shoes off for her, a gesture of affection, sometimes teasing and playful…foreplay. In the morning when she was hurried and stressed, fitfully glancing at her watch while she ate her bagel, he'd bring her shoes to her, slide his hands caressingly over the soles of her bare feet and slip her shoes on for her. She would stop then, time forgotten. She'd look at him and smile and her mouth would find his.

He could still see that one forlorn shoe on the garage floor, half of a pair, lying on its side. Wrong. It was so wrong.

"Andy? Andy?" Brenda called louder. "FLYNN."

Andy looked at her but his eyes were hollow. Brenda felt for him. God, she couldn't even begin to imagine what he was going through. His face was just about as white as his shirt. He looked at her but Brenda got the feeling that he wasn't really seeing her.

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted to give you an update. We've had repeated reports of a man in his early fifties who drives a black Jeep being seen near your home, both in the vehicle and walking. Problem is there are a lot of black Jeeps; it's not much to go on but it's a start. I also found some discarded coffee cups and wrappers all in the same spot behind your house. There's a worn patch in the grass back there and some footprints. Are you back there a lot?"

"No."

"Well, I think he was watching you-the house. We've gotten a lot of fingerprints. Most of them are going to turn out to be yours or Sharon's or Rusty's but there's a chance…."

"Rusty. Where is he?"

"Did you hear anything I said?" asked Brenda worriedly.

"Yeah. Where's the kid?" When Andy talked about "the kid," it was not derogatory; it was affectionate. But you had to know Andy to understand that-and Brenda did.

"He's at the Mariott. Sharon's sister is with him. Remember?"

"Vaguely." Andy rubbed his forehead and then his face.

"Why don't you get over there and try to get even a few minutes of sleep?' suggested Brenda.

Andy looked at Brenda like she was crazy.

"All right. I know you're not going to sleep but get out of here for a little bit. Finley's this close to tossing you out on your ass. If I were in charge, I would have thrown you out a long time ago." She said it with fondness. Brenda handed Andy his cell phone. "It's fully charged. I will call you if there is even the smallest bit of news, I promise."

"I'm not going anywhere, Brenda," bellowed Andy.

A cop across the way eyed Andy warily.

Brenda lowered her voice, hoping Andy would follow suit. "Listen. Sharon Raydor is one of the strongest, most sensible, and capable people I've ever known. She's a fighter and she's smart."

"It's not always enough," Andy said quietly. "I've seen so many cases where-it wouldn't even begin to be enough."

Brenda felt her eyes begin to fill. She blinked rapidly. Andy's situation would be horrific for anyone but for someone who used to solve homicide cases, it was a special kind of nightmare. Most people see criminals in photos and television crime re-enactments. Andy Flynn had stared them in the face.

Brenda grabbed both of Andy's hands in hers and squeezed. "There is nothing to indicate that she will not be found. Please, Andy. She needs you on board to help us find her and bring her home."

"She'd be so much better at this than I am. If the situation were reversed. I wish it could have been-me-instead of her." For the first time since Brenda had seen him since last night, he showed the beginnings of an emotion that wasn't anger or rage.

"Why don't you go check on Rusty, hmm? The Mariott is just down the road. You were...kind of hard on him earlier."

Andy looked heartbroken. His shoulders slumped with visible remorse. "I know. I'm out of my mind Brenda. I-I didn't mean it."

Brenda nodded. "He needs to hear it. Let Provenza drive you, okay?" She braced herself for an argument but he merely nodded.

"Okay."

In the elevator at the Mariott, Andy watched a middle aged couple smiling at one another over a shared private joke; they both had rings on their fingers. Married. Ostensibly happy. He and Sharon had been like that-happy. Until the hand of Fate suddenly noticed them and decided to point its accusing finger in their direction. Andy didn't believe in God, not after all the things he'd seen as a cop, and yet in the past twelve hours, he couldn't count how many times he'd invoked the mercy of a deity that he didn't believe in. _That was irony for you._

Provenza and Andy found the hotel room and knocked.

Sharon's twin Samantha opened the door. Like her sister, she was always well put together, always fashionably dressed from head to toe. This morning she was disheveled, eschew. She wore no make-up and her eyes were puffy. She was a blonde version of Sharon, long honey-blonde hair. He was used to the short platinum blonde waves that she'd had before. He suspected she was wearing hair extensions—but Sam could afford it.

"Hi Andy." Sam forced a smile but there was no light behind it. Her hug was quick, almost dismissive. Anything more, and she feared that she'd break down. She didn't want to do that, not in front of Rusty, and not in front of Andy.

"Sam, this is Louie Provenza; he's on Sharon's squad."

"Nice to meet you," Sam said. "I've heard a lot about you. Sharon says you keep her on her toes."

Provenza nodded and cleared his throat. "Oh well, you know, someone has to." Provenza engaged Samantha in conversation while Andy went over to Rusty who had risen from the chair where he'd been sitting, e-reader in his hands.

"Hey, kid." He said it like it was a term of endearment.

"Hey."

"Look-what I said earlier about-about the garage door…..I didn't mean it. I don't know which end is up, if it's morning or evening. I'm not handling this well and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. None of this is your fault, Rusty. None of it. Not in any way, shape or form, okay?"

Rusty nodded. With one swift motion, Andy grabbed him and hugged him, patting him on the back. "We're going to find her," Andy whispered to Rusty before he released him.

* * *

Erik Korski shuffled into Sharon's room with a tray in one hand and the knife in the other. On the tray was a package of chopped walnuts, an apple, and a bag of Hostess blueberry mini-muffins. A bottle of spring water was tucked under one arm. The food confirmed Sharon's suspicions that they were not in any kind of a residence. She wondered if the place had any kind of a true kitchen and she shuddered to think what she'd find in the bathroom. She also learned another very valuable piece of information. The door locked from the outside, which meant that while Korski was in the room, the door was unlocked.

Erik took Sharon's empty plastic cup from the end table by the bed and replaced it with the bottle of water. He placed the tray on the bed next to her.

"You should eat something," he encouraged her. "How are you settling in?"

Sharon fixed two venomous green-grey eyes on him and didn't answer.

"Oh, Sharon…I know this all must seem strange and overwhelming but in time that will change and you'll learn to like it here. You'll even learn to like me." He chuckled. He had a surprisingly effeminate laugh for such a tall, big man.

Sharon found that her speech came slowly; she still had the odd sensation of feeling as if she were underwater or moving in slow motion and the nausea was still present in her body, like a constant white noise forever in the background. But she could move her head without feeling as if she were going to pass out so that was progress.

"You've threatened my life, hit me, drugged me, held me against my will, and taken me away from all of the people that I love. I will never like being here and I will never like you. If that is your goal in this whole endeavor, you are sadly misguided."

"That is only the secondary goal. I've already accomplished the primary goal."

"What was the primary goal?"

"You sound like a shrink," growled Erik. "Don't fucking try to analyze me. I don't want to talk about me." His voice softened. "Eat, please."

Sharon found his erratic changes in mood disturbing. "I still feel sick to my stomach." But she was incredibly thirsty. She picked up the bottle of water but she struggled to unscrew the cap. Erik took the bottle from her, opened it, and handed it back to her. He seemed pleased with himself.

"I sat with you last night, you know," he smiled. "Watched you sleep. It doesn't have to be unpleasant between us, Sharon. I'll take care of you." He reached a hand out and touched the side of her face. As soon as his fingertips made contact with her skin, Sharon flinched.

He withdrew his hand, slowly. He enjoyed merely looking at her. For now, that was enough. It filled him with pride to think that he'd managed to take her right from under Andrew Flynn's arrogant nose.

Erik rose. "I'll be back in a little while. I'll bring you some books to read. An intelligent woman like you shouldn't be bored."

"You can't possibly think you're going to keep me here indefinitely," Sharon told him coldly.

Erik turned before opening the door. He looked at her handcuffed hands that she held in her lap. He hadn't planned on using handcuffs around her ankles but he was glad that he had taken the precaution. She had fought harder than he had expected in the garage. But he had won. He was heady with the power that he felt. When he had kept Julia it had been mostly through fear and intimidation. He found the physical aspect of overpowering Sharon Raydor strangely intoxicating, a thrill. The news showed no signs that the cops had any clue where she was or who had taken her. He had outsmarted them all.

"I can do whatever I want with you, Sharon, and you'd do well to remember that."

The final click of the door locking echoed through the corridor even after he had left. Sharon forced herself to sit up a little bit more. She took a tiny bite of the apple that he'd brought her and chewed, following it with a tiny sip of water.

If he thought that she was going to be a passive victim, he was very, very wrong. Of course, she was afraid. She would be a fool not to be. The man was obviously deranged and he was dangerous. She was injured and her mobility was severely limited, two very big disadvantages.

But even so, she would not give in without a fight.

* * *

Brenda was surprised that she hadn't been asked to leave the crime scene. Finley was right; her being there was not protocol and they were probably breaking a book's worth of rules. While she had no actual jurisdiction or power, she helped by offering suggestions and input. As long as Finley allowed it, she wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. She was standing in Andy's den shuffling through a stack of dossiers that they had pulled on the basis of black Jeeps that had traveled through one of the two major intersections near Andy's house around the estimated time of Sharon's abduction. Brenda was so absorbed in the files that she didn't notice Finley marching toward her.

"Johnson!" he called urgently. Brenda looked up.

"We have something," he said excitedly. "Fingerprints on a piece of lawn furniture outside on the patio. And get this. They belong to one Erik Korski, a man Flynn tried to put away on charges of him kidnapping his own ex-girlfriend...almost twenty years ago. He got off on an insanity plea but he's been in and out of mental hospitals and group homes for the past nineteen years. Until one idiot psychiatrist decided to release him back out into the public almost a year ago. I just called Flynn. He's on his way down to the station. So is the the shrink that signed for Korski's release." Finley swore under his breath. "You're the only one who can handle Flynn so..."

Brenda grabbed her purse. "On my way."


	8. Chapter 8

Andy had just gotten off the phone with Chief Finley. Samantha, Provenza, and Rusty all looked at him expectantly. He was about to explain to them that the police knew who had kidnapped Sharon when he was hit hard by Samantha's stricken expression and Rusty's despondent eyes. He didn't want to lie to them but he didn't want to increase their anxiety either. He couldn't even remember Erik Korski, although he suspected that when he looked at the case files it would come back. Explaining that the police suspected some half-baked mental case from Andy's past with a thirst for revenge did not seem like a very wise tactic to lay on Sharon's sister and the young man that loved her like the mother that he should have had.

"The police have some possible leads about suspects that might have taken Sharon," explained Andy hesitantly.

"From the intersection cameras?" prompted Samantha.

"Yes," agreed Andy. "I'm going to go down to the station and see if I recognize any faces."

"I should go, too, then," said Rusty, eager to help.

"No, Rusty-," Andy protested.

"Rusty's right," flared Samantha. She began to pace. The way she moved with small rapid steps when she was agitated made Andy think immediately of Sharon. "I can't stand this. This waiting. Not knowing and not being able to do anything to help her. I feel so fucking useless. My niece and nephew are on their way and I can't-how do I face them?"

"I know." Andy brushed a hand across Samantha's shoulder. "Just give me a minute. I've got some paperwork that I left in Provenza's car. I'll be right back. Five minutes."

Andy turned and gave Provenza a meaningful look.

Provenza grabbed his car keys. "I'll open the car for you. We'll be right back."

When they were out of the hotel room and out of earshot, Provenza grabbed Flynn's arm.

"What the hell was all that about?" he asked.

"Finley's team found prints at the house that belong to a guy I tried to put away nineteen years ago for kidnapping his ex-girlfriend, an Erik Korski. I don't even remember the case. They've called some psychiatrist in; the guy's been in and out of mental hospitals and group homes until a year ago when his shrink released him. The car's a match; he drives a black Jeep. Used to rent a room on Mulberry, some hole in the wall but the guy he rented from hasn't seen him for a month. Korski quit his job bagging groceries at the supermarket a little over two weeks ago."

"You're not planning on going down to the station to meet this psychiatrist, are you?" asked Provenza.

Flynn looked at him like the answer was obvious.

"Well, I won't drive you," Provenza stated firmly and crossed his arms.

"Don't be an asshole!" yelled Flynn.

"You're too close to this, Andy," Provenza yelled back with equal fervor, "Let Brenda handle it. You go down there and fly off the handle and when they do bring Sharon home, you'll be wearing an orange jumpsuit. You love Sharon? Be there for her family because they really need you right now. Did Finley ask you to come down?"

"No," sulked Flynn. In fact, Finley had specifically requested that Andy stay away until they got a better handle on things.

"You stay here and meet with Sharon's kids. You're less than ten minutes from the station. I'll go be your eyes and ears. What do you think Sharon would want you to do if she were here?"

Andy knew the answer. He didn't like it but he knew it.

"You really are an asshole, you know that don't you?"

Provenza nodded. "I know. Look, I will call you immediately if there are any developments."

Andy watched Provenza hurry down the hall and it took every ounce of self-control not to follow. But instead he walked back to the hotel room and sat down next to Rusty. Samantha was in the bathroom. When she emerged, Andy spoke up.

"You don't have to face Ryan and Kate alone, Sam. I'm not going anywhere." He looked at Rusty. "You, too, kid. Neither of you have to face this alone. We're family; we're all in this together. I'm right here," he promised. And he meant it.

* * *

Brenda Johnson had a headache. She'd interviewed countless witnesses and suspects through the course of her career. Most were largely forgettable. But Dr. Rosemary Lindt would not be easily forgotten, and not in the good way. Lindt was a petite blue-eyed blonde. Her hair was the shade of blonde popular with older women, so pale as to be nearly white. Lindt looked constantly startled, as If someone had just jumped out at her, only she almost always had this surprised quality. Originally from New Orleans, she had a light southern drawl mixed with an odd, stilted crispness of tone forged from too much education and too little common sense. Brenda was utterly relieved that Provenza had somehow miraculously convinced Andy not to come because both she and Provenza were shooting shared looks of fury back and forth during the interview. And if they both wanted to kill her, she could only imagine what Andy would have done if he had come.

"I just can't wrap my head around the notion that Mr. Korski is a danger." She sounded like the owner of a vicious pet German shepard named "Fluffy" who insisted that her killer-dog was a misunderstood gentle spirit. "Have you seen his paintings?" she asked. Lindt had led a four year study on the benefits of art therapy for mentally disturbed patients.

"Just because he played with finger paints and sang _Kumbaya_ in your little program doesn't eradicate what is a very colorful history," sneered Provenza, "and when I say colorful I'm not talking about the colors you find in an art store."

Chief Finley cleared his throat and shuffled in his chair.

"It says here that he tried to strangle a nurse," interrupted Brenda as she waved the piece of paper in her hand at the doctor.

"That was never confirmed," shrugged Lindt.

"In 1994, he held his ex-girlfriend in his trailer against her will, repeatedly threatening to harm her and himself if she left. And then there are pages and pages," Brenda fanned through a stack of papers, "of him threatening and intimidating the staff at the hospital."

"He would sometimes get agitated," agreed Dr. Lindt, "but he never physically hurt anyone. Even his ex-girlfriend, Julia. And he was acquitted of those charges. And aside from that, Julia didn't even want to press charges; she insisted that the entire thing was a misunderstanding."

"A stick of dynamite doesn't blow up until it's lit," said Brenda, "but that doesn't mean it isn't deadly. Also, victims of abuse don't always view their abuser in a negative light." Brenda wondered how on earth this woman had earned a medical degree. "Do you have any _useful_ insights on his psychological state. You _were_ his doctor."

"He's very well read; very intelligent. He was always at the library. He was a bit of an armchair psychologist himself. He was an idealist-very romantic, in love with the idea of being in love. Childlike in a way."

Brenda and Provenza exchanged another incredulous look. Finley rubbed his forehead.

"Was the nature of your relationship always professional?" asked Brenda.

"How dare you?" Dr. Lindt reddened. "Of course. He was my patient. I would never-"

Chief Finley nodded. "Of course not. Thank you, Dr. Lindt. I think that's enough. We'll call you if we have any further questions. Try to stay local for the time being if you can."

They all watched her pick up her purse and exit the room. For almost a minute, no one spoke.

"She's as crazy as a bedbug," huffed Brenda finally.

"That's because all the nutters end up becoming shrinks. They can't resist the psychology field," sighed Provenza.

"I'm only sharing this because it's relevant to the case but Flynn's disciplinary file shows that he called Korski a 'total wackjob' and the two of them had a minor verbal altercation."

"Flynn had it right," said Provenza and Brenda in unison.

"We've got every available cop in the vicinity looking for that Jeep," said Finley. "I think Korski had to have taken her somewhere abandoned or remote. He doesn't own property and he couldn't have taken her to an apartment or any kind of shared space. We're looking at empty warehouses and buildings under construction within a ten mile radius of his former residence and near the hospital."

Brenda tapped her fingers against the table. "I want to know what's on his library card; let's find out what Mr. Korski was reading."

Finley nodded at the lieutenant at the threshold of the door. "Can you have Lieutenant Marco pull that up for us?"

Finley led Brenda and Provenza to the outer room. Lieutenant Marco was punching something up on his monitor. With a flick of his wrist, he angled the flat screen panel toward the others. "Here you go," he said.

Brenda skimmed the list of recent books. She gave a little gasp.

"Well," said Provenza dryly, "at least we know the good doctor wasn't whistling Dixie about Korski being an armchair psychologist."

"Stockholm syndrome," murmured Finley as he noticed the common thread in several of the book titles. The trio exchanged a look.

Lieutenant Marco quickly pulled up a webpage on Stockholm syndrome and read, "Stockholm syndrome: a psychological phenomenon in which hostages express empathy, sympathy and have positive feelings towards their captors, sometimes to the point of defending them. These feelings are generally considered irrational in light of the danger or risk endured by the victims, who essentially mistake a lack of abuse from their captors for an act of kindness. Stockholm syndrome can be seen as a form of _traumatic bonding_ , which does not necessarily require a hostage scenario, but which describes _strong emotional ties that develop between two persons where one person intermittently harasses, beats, threatens, abuses, or intimidates the other._ "

"His ex-girlfriend," said Brenda. "She formed this kind of unhealthy attachment after he captured her."

"Until Flynn 'turned her against him'," supplied Provenza, "when he solved the case."

"And now Korski thinks that he can elicit the same bonding response from Sharon," added Brenda.

"The twisted son-of-a-bitch thinks that she's going to form an attachment to him!" Provenza exclaimed.

"Only now, he's had almost twenty years to fantasize about it," said Finley.


	9. Chapter 9

Sharon had been missing for nearly thirty-six hours. She had left her watch on the counter in the bathroom at home. Between the absence of a clock and the lack of light, she was having a very difficult concept of time, not to mention the holes in her memory. The nausea was still persistent and she was not holding food or water down very well. The best thing, she knew, that you could do for a concussion is to rest and she did try to do that as much as possible, although she was on constant edge, except for those first few hours when she had been completely passed out from the chloroform.

She had two choices. She could either wait for the police to find her or she could try to escape. Attempting escape could be very dangerous, and if she failed, her situation could get much worse. But remaining at the mercy of this lunatic also presented its own set of dangers. What would he do to her if she didn't get away soon? He had offered her a change of clothes when he had brought her some books earlier and he had almost hit her when she had refused, only gaining control of himself at the last second. The idea of wearing clothing that wasn't hers was unthinkable; it would be like admitting that she was going to be in this horrible place for some time. The thought occurred to Sharon that perhaps he would unshackle her so that she could go to the bathroom and change if she agreed to take the offered clothes, giving her an opportunity to escape. But it could also go the other way—that he'd just offer to help her change instead. The very idea of that happening filled her with such unspeakable dread that she decided to err on the side of caution. He already leered at her in a way that made her want to scrub herself from head to toe with disinfectant.

In the bathroom, Sharon did end up discovering a tactical advantage. She had already decided that the metal folding chair might make a possible weapon. But in the bathroom there was also a mirror. If she could hide a shard of mirror, she would have a second weapon. She could stun him with the chair, make a run for the door, and jab him with the glass from the mirror if he made a grab for her. The element of surprise would be in her favor.

The biggest problem with her plan, she decided, was her lack of mobility. It would be foolhardy to attempt to run when she could only move her feet a few inches at a time. Her hands, she could work around-but not her feet. She also had a secondary problem in the recurrent dizziness and vertigo. She was uncertain about how quickly she would be able to move and react.

Sharon had always been a very perceptive observer of human nature. She sized people up pretty quickly. One of the things that she'd discovered about Korski was that he enjoyed helping her when she was sick, not out of empathy or compassion but because it afforded him the opportunity to feel important, to feel that she _needed_ him. It gratified his twisted ego, made him feel powerful, and allowed him to pretend that she might end up liking him. She might be able to use this knowledge to her advantage, to manipulate him into doing what she wanted.

Steeling her will, the ever-pragmatic Sharon decided that she would begin testing the parameters of her escape plan. Pushing her hands into the mattress for leverage, Sharon grimaced as her head reeled when she stood up. But with iron resolve, she made herself ignore the pain enough to slowly practice walking around the room, doing small, short laps.

* * *

Chief Finley had every officer that he could spare, both from his department and neighboring ones, checking out empty buildings and warehouses near Korski's former apartment. The Jeep hadn't been found yet but it was a wide area to cover. Even Taylor had sanctioned the Major Crimes team to "laterally assist" in the search. At 10 AM, Brenda came storming into Finley's office, heels clicking angrily across the floor.

"That nutcase doctor isn't even a medical doctor; she's just a Ph.D. Psychology. She faked her credentials almost twenty-five years ago and no one caught up with her! Started medical school and dropped out." Brenda was livid. "You tell me how someone could pose as a medical doctor for all of those years and no one would notice? She prescribed medication. Who knows how many other patients she released besides Korski who were mentally unfit?"

Finley glanced at the thick file that she had dropped on his desk. "Where is she now?"

"In custody," answered Brenda. Brenda tossed her head to the right. "Down the hall with Tassani and Flores."

Brenda began stalking out the door. "Where are you going?" intercepted Finley.

"Out in the field to help in the search for Captain Raydor."

"Oh, no you're not. You don't have any clearance to be out there."

"All right; fine," answered Brenda in a clipped voice.

"Johnson-that was way too easy." Finley wagged a finger at her. "I mean it. I've got thirty-seven officers on this."

"I'm just going to go talk to forensics," smiled Brenda sweetly.

"Brenda…."

Brenda walked primly out of the office. When she was out of earshot, she mumbled a few short words under her breath. "Now you'll have thirty-eight."

* * *

Andy had stayed true to his word to offer support to Sharon's family. Kate and Ryan had come down from San Diego along with Ryan's pregnant wife, Elle. Sharon was going to be a grandmother for the first time in September, which was only four months away. Andy gave particular care to Rusty as he wanted to make utterly sure that he wasn't blaming himself for possibly leaving the garage door open. Andy still felt pretty ashamed of himself for making the kid feel worse than he already had. Samantha and Ryan had gone out to pass out some flyers with Sharon's picture on them. Kate and Elle were doing the same on the other side of town. It wasn't much but it made everyone feel better to be doing something. Andy understood that; it gave you the illusion that you had some control over the situation.

"Hey, kid," Andy said softly as he brushed a hand across Rusty's shoulder, "are you up for a little road trip?"

"Where are we going?"

"Well, Lieutenant Provenza asked me if I wanted to ride around with him to look for a black Jeep that might belong to a possible suspect. I thought maybe you might want to come?"

"You'd take me?"

"Well, this is unofficial. So yeah. I mean….if you want to. I'd-I'd kind of like the company," added Andy.

Rusty smiled. "Is it dangerous?"

Andy shook his head. "Shouldn't be; I wouldn't take you if it were. Sharon would kill me if…."

 _Sharon._ They both looked at one another.

"….if anything happened to me," finished Rusty.

"She loves you. And you know-she's not the only one."

* * *

Sharon looked at her disheveled reflection in the mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes and her face was pale. Her hair was a mess. Her black slacks were completely wrinkled and there was a tear in the seam of her emerald green blouse on the right shoulder. She was also missing two buttons. She had decided to try to get Korski to unlock the cuffs around her ankles. If she could get him to do that, then she would go ahead with the remainder of her plan. Besides, after she broke the bathroom mirror there would be no going back, especially once he discovered what she had done.

She was scared. She closed her eyes and took a set of slow, deep breaths. _You can do this, Raydor. He's just a man. Think about who you were married to for almost 32 years. You survived Richard. Richard was Prince Charming in comparison. Who knew I'd almost feel nostalgic about Richard? Just look what a psychopath can do for your outlook._ Sharon stifled a laugh. _Oh, my God; I'm really losing it._

With one final exhale, Sharon picked up the metal folding chair that she had brought into the bathroom with her and slammed it into the bathroom mirror. It was an awkward movement with her handcuffed hands but she had practiced lifting and hitting with the chair enough that she was almost used to the limitation in range of movement. The glass fractured and a couple of pieces fell into the sink. It wasn't the big break that she had hoped for but it was enough. She would have to work quickly now; if he came into the room now due to the sound of the chair hitting the mirror, she would have to be in place for the next phase of her plan. She scanned the mirror glass for the sharpest looking piece and pried it from the frame. She had to choose carefully because the piece had to be small enough to conceal in one of her hands.

Glass in hand poking into the skin of her palm, Sharon shuffled as fast as she could back out into the main room of her "prison." She could already hear Korski's footsteps approaching. He must have been close. Closer than she had hoped. Sharon's heart pounded in her chest. A wave of vertigo brought her to her knees.

_Oh God not now. Not now._

She allowed herself to fall and then pushed her body and the chair along the floor as quickly as she could. She had hardly a second to spare but when Korski had opened the door and entered the room, she was halfway to the bed, in the spot where he usually kept the metal folding chair.

Sharon watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was on the alert, knife in one hand.

"I heard a noise. What happened?" He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously.

"I was coming back from the bathroom," Sharon answered softly with a shaky breath. "I'm still so dizzy. I tripped over the chair." Her body and her voice trembled. She had planned to feign her distress but she didn't have to. That part was real enough. "With the vertigo and the cuffs around my ankles, I find it very hard to maneuver," she explained weakly. "I'm all right."

Her fragility had the effect on him that she had hoped it would. He knelt down next to her and slid the palm of his hand up and down her right arm. Sharon bristled at the touch but she didn't pull away.

"You're shaking," he observed. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Sharon. I could be very good to you if you'd let me." Korski looked at her. Her vulnerability made him feel powerful. Potent. He had promised himself that he'd wait until he was sure that she was willing but…his breaths came faster with the thought. He brushed a hand against her ankle and he rubbed his thumb against her skin. Sharon swallowed back her revulsion.

"I could maybe….take these off for a little while." He gave the cuffs around her ankles a quick jingle.

"Thank you." Sharon looked him directly in the eyes but with her peripheral vision, she kept a steady eye on the knife. He was conscious of the weapon in his hand and she could tell he had a steady grip on it. Rather than try to disarm him, she still decided that her best course of action was the chair, especially if she could get him to allow her to lean on him when getting up; it would give her some leverage. It would give her a much needed advantage and she didn't have many.

Korski dug into his pocket and pulled out a small key. Bending down low, he inserted the key into the lock of the ankle cuffs. He seemed to take forever doing it. Sharon felt like her heart was going to pound out of her chest. But then there was the click of the lock releasing and the feel of him removing the cool metal from her ankles.

She didn't act right away. He was watching her intently, gauging her.

"Thank you," Sharon said again. She began to stand up. She pretended to falter and touched his shoulder ostensibly to steady herself.

"I'll help you get back over to the bed," Korski offered, his voice a little breathy but for an entirely different reason. Sharon's hands gripped the metal chair, clenching, knuckles white. Korski was lower than she was, only slightly. But if she were going to do this, then this was the moment.

With every ounce of strength in her body, Sharon hit him in the head as hard as she could with the metal chair. Once. Twice. He was stunned and flailed backwards. This gave her a moment to get up and dash for the door. But getting up so rapidly from a kneeling position cost her. A wave of vertigo sent her reeling and she stumbled blindly.

He lunged for her with an angry growl. If he toppled her, Sharon knew, she wouldn't be able to get up again-not in a hurry. The room was already whirling. Panic rose in her throat that she had made a terrible mistake.

There was blood on her hand, dripping onto the floor. Sharon had forgotten about the shard of mirror. It was cutting into her palm and she hadn't even realized it. Korski sliced at her with the knife. The attack was desperate, angry, imprecise. He made contact with her rib cage cutting through the silk of her blouse and into her skin. Sharon winced and counterattacked with the shard of mirror glass only her attack was much more accurate.

She aimed for his face and she didn't miss.

Korski howled and put his hands reflexively over his face. Wasting no time, Sharon stumbled toward the door, opened it, slammed it shut, and bolted it. She sank down against the hard wood of the door, eyes blinking in the sunlight that streamed through the dusty warehouse windows. While Korski banged and scratched against the door in a fit of fury.

"You have the right to remain silent," began Sharon softly. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law…."

Sharon had always found procedures comforting; it was an absurd moment but she read the man his rights. She was then faced with a procedural quandary. She needed medical attention but she didn't want to leave a dangerous armed man unguarded, although the chances of someone stumbling on him seemed pretty remote. Sharon got up slowly and looked at her surroundings. It was a large room; it looked to her like an empty warehouse. On a wooden table there was a pile of odds and ends. Among the items was a set of paints and an easel. Grabbing the paints she hobbled back over to the door and scrawled in black paint, _Dangerous and armed criminal inside. Do not engage. Call 911 immediately._

Applying pressure to the wound on her ribs, Sharon made her very slow way out of the warehouse. She shuffled along in the oversized, pink terrycloth slippers. The sun was terribly bright and made her head throb and pulse. But she could hear the sound of cars not too far so she continued. She made it to the side of the road and had to sit down as she was quickly losing her balance.

Within minutes, a Mercedes stopped next to her and a man emerged in his clean white tennis shirt and navy shorts. He was in his forties with sandy blonde hair and concerned brown eyes. She eyed him warily. He took in her appearance and stopped a few feet from her, respectfully keeping his distance.

"Ma'am, I've just called for police and ambulance. I recognized you from the road. Your picture has been all over the news the past day. They've got the police looking for you everywhere. Are you all right?"

Sharon nodded. "I am now."

The warehouse was about 20 miles from Korski's former apartment-in the very next quadrant the police would have searched.


	10. Chapter 10

The ambulance arrived before the police. Sharon was a nervous wreck and she wanted to make sure that the paramedics understood that there was an armed and dangerous man locked in a room in the crumbling warehouse behind them. She was much more focused and concerned about making sure that the police got him than she was worried about her own welfare.

"Don't take me away until the police get here," she pleaded desperately. "I need to make sure that they understand." Her voice didn't sound like her own. The soft cadence and cool modulation was gone. This foreign voice was strained and frightened. She felt a sudden surge of emotion. It overwhelmed her like a heavy scent, cloying and stifling. Her breaths felt shallow and asymmetrical. She had the sensation that everything was moving too quickly and she couldn't keep up.

"Ma'am," said the paramedic to her right, "they're putting a call in right now to dispatch. I promise they will go and check it out immediately."

The paramedics put her on a stretcher, talking to her and asking her questions. There was a tall dark-haired blue eyed one who introduced himself as David Palmer.

"Can you tell me your name, Ma'am?" he asked her.

"Sharon Raydor."

"Can I call you Sharon?"

"Yes."

"We're going to take excellent care of you, okay? Can you tell me about your injuries?"

"My head on the right front side. I have a bump under the hairline. I have a cut on the left side of my rib cage from a knife wound. And my right hand is cut from a piece of mirror glass."

"How did you sustain the head injury?"

"My assailant hit me in the head with a golf club."

"Did you lose consciousness?"

Sharon hesitated. "Yes but-I don't know. I think that was after the chloroform." The sun was too bright. It made streaks and spots appear across her vision. There were too many people around her. Too close. She felt lightheaded. David Palmer shone a small flashlight into her eyes. Sharon winced audibly.

"Any nausea or vomiting?"

"Yes, both."

"Pupils are dilated," he informed another one of the medics.

They lifted her into the ambulance and began hooking her up to tubes and wires. "You're not going to put me to sleep, are you?" Sharon asked nervously.

"No, sweetheart. We're not going to put you to sleep."

Yet another paramedic leaned over her, a woman. "I'm going to push your blouse up, Sharon so that I can have a look at your rib cage." David Palmer was gently wrapping her palm in gauze. Sharon stiffened. She wished that they would all go away and just leave her alone. She didn't want to be touched. The lights, the voices, the close proximity-it all made her feel wound up, tight, taut. They fired more questions at her. She was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate, especially after the siren began screeching. Sharon was filled with an uncharacteristic yearning to disappear, to run and hide in some small safe space where it would be impossible for her to be discovered. To be invisible.

The ER was equally frenetic. A doctor emphatically told two nurses, "After we get her stitched up, I want a CT scan immediately. Possibility of a TBI. And she's terribly dehydrated." The doctor smoothed Sharon's brow. "Hang in there, honey," she encouraged her. "You're experiencing a very big adrenaline crash and it's probably making you feel anxious and confused. Try to relax if you can. I know that's easier said than done. Any family we can call for you?"

"My fiancé and my sister."

"Okay, we'll be right on it."

* * *

Provenza broke at least seven traffic rules as he sped to the hospital. Flynn, white-faced and shaking didn't say a word as they weaved in and out of traffic. In the backseat, Rusty looked out the window and stared at his own innert reflection in the glass.

The news had come that Sharon had been found and was at the hospital. Andy had felt a surge of relief when he heard. But that good news was followed by the pronouncement that the hospital staff was taking her to ICU but were unable to give him any more information on her status. What had happened to her that she needed to be in intensive care? Andy felt sick. Sick to his stomach and even sicker in his heart.

"Andy, it doesn't have to mean the worst," Provenza said tentatively. "Sometimes they send you to ICU just so that they can monitor you closely."

Andy didn't say a word. He just stared ahead, mutely watching the traffic. Provenza sighed.

Once they arrived at the hospital, only Andy was allowed to go into ICU. He gave Rusty a quick hug and promised that he would update him as soon as he had news.

"Stay with him?" he asked Provenza.

"Of course."

ICU was buzzing with doctors and nurses. Like all hospitals, it took much longer to get anywhere than you anticipated. The long, gleaming corridors seemed to go on forever. At the nurses' station, Andy gave his name and explained that he was there for Sharon Raydor.

"It'll just be a minute, Mr. Flynn," said a strawberry blonde nurse who looked very official with her clipboard in hand.

Waiting was agony. Andy half wanted to leap over the counter and demand that they tell him what the hell was going on and how she was doing. It was only the certainty that such behavior would surely get him tossed out of the hospital keeping him under control. Even so, it was a precarious mental struggle.

A woman approached Andy and he immediately read her badge: _Dr. Leah Murphy._ She was tall, in her late forties or early fifties, and had short blonde hair. Her face was kind and she introduced herself immediately.

"Andy Flynn?"

"Yes." _Enough with the preliminaries_. "How is she?" Andy asked urgently.

"She sustained a superficial stab wound to her left rib cage. It did require a few stitches but nothing major. She has another puncture wound on the palm of her right hand. We've wrapped it and stopped the bleeding. These wounds are relatively minor and should not cause further complications."

Andy was impatient. "Why is she in ICU then?"

"Sharon was hit on the head. At best, she has a mild concussion; at worst, a moderate one. From her CT scan, I'd say that she's on the upper end of mild, just toward moderate severity."

Andy froze.

"At this point, we can't tell for sure how extensive the injury is. Most likely, she will make a complete recovery. But she didn't get treatment right away, which will slow her recovery process. There is always the possibility that there could be permanent damage. I don't think that's the case but I want to give you the facts. Sharon is mostly lucid, which is an excellent sign. Her balance is impaired and she's suffering from persistent vertigo. The head injury caused her a great deal of nausea so she had trouble holding down liquids and food. As a result, she's very dehydrated. As you know, her experience was very traumatic so we could also very likely be looking at some PTSD but again—I would say it's mild." The doctor smiled softly. "She's an extremely resilient woman."

Dr. Murphy continued, "Sharon's recollection of events seems very good, although there seems to be some retrograde amnesia; she can't recall the events leading up to the attack but other than that her memory is intact. Again, that's a good sign. Between her adrenaline crash and her dehydration, she's bound to be feeling extremely anxious and a little disoriented. We've managed her anxiety with a mild sedative. The best thing for her is rest. Also, something as simple as readjusting the position of her head can significantly help to reduce the concussive swelling. What I want to do is monitor her closely and see if the vertigo and dizziness disappear once we get the swelling down and her body is rehydrated. Do you have any questions?"

"Does she have any other injuries?" croaked Andy.

"Some minor bruises from tripping and falling."

"Was she-" Andy didn't know how to ask the next question but he needed to know because he just couldn't bear the thought of her having to go through it. But if she had, he wanted to be prepared to help her deal with it. The knot in his stomach twisted tighter. "Did she say-"

"Sharon stated that she was _not_ sexually assaulted, Mr. Flynn. And there is no physical evidence to indicate otherwise."

Tears spilled down Andy's cheeks; he didn't even try to hide them.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Flynn, that you and she had to go through this. She's safe now. If your wife—I mean your fiancée-had the wherewithal to escape from captivity even with a pretty formidable concussion, I am fairly confident that she has the potential to surmount this."

Andy looked surprised. "What? I thought the police found her."

"No. She got out of there on her own." The doctor's eyes shone with sincere admiration. "She is a very clever and very resourceful woman." Dr. Murphy lowered her voice and there was a twinkle in her eye. "The lady has balls of steel. But I'll let her tell you what happened. She's one tough cookie."

"She is." Andy's voice cracked down the middle and broke in two. "She's remarkable. Can I see her?"

"Of course. She's sedated. Again, I can't stress enough how important rest is going to be for her so that her body can rejuvenate and heal. But you can sit with her and talk quietly to her if you'd like. Her sister is on the way. I can't allow any other visitors at this time. But I've told the staff that you can stay with her. It's not customary but I get the feeling that you'll dismantle this hospital down to its very foundation if we tell you otherwise. And these aren't exactly typical circumstances so I'll bend the rules. But if we ask you to get out so that we can do our jobs, you get out."

Andy nodded.

"Last room on the left." She pointed in that direction.

"Thanks." Andy pulled out his phone and called Sharon's son. He explained Sharon's condition and promised that he'd call if there was any change and would let him know when Sharon could have visitors. Andy asked Ryan to relay the information to his sister. As soon as he hung up, he called Rusty and updated him on Sharon's status. He asked to speak to Provenza and also gave him a brief rundown.

"I don't want Rusty to be alone," said Andy. "Do you think that you could stay with him at the house tonight or let him stay with you?"

"Of course, Andy. Don't worry about anything. Just take care of that wicked lady of yours."

On rubber legs, Andy walked down the corridor and into Sharon's room. He was a teary-eyed, sobbing mess as soon as he laid eyes on her. It was such a relief to see her alive and safe. He felt a myriad of emotions. Joy and sadness. Burning anger at the man who had put her in this hospital. Worry. Guilt. And a very big dose of self-reproach.

And love. More than any of the others. Love. It was the melody line; all the other feelings were just accompaniment.

He sat down next to her and grasped her hand; he was on her left side which allowed him to hold the hand that wasn't injured. She looked particularly small lying in that big bed. Her heart monitor beeped steadily. Andy watched the rhythmical rise and fall of her chest. Leaning his forehead against the very far edge of her pillow, he sat quietly, eyes half closed but open enough to see her face.

"I'm so sorry, Sharon," he began softly. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there that night. I'm sorry that someone from my past crept up and hurt you. I'm sorry that I didn't see the signs. I need you to get better soon, baby, because I can't do this without you. I love you so much. You take your time to rest and heal but hurry back to me as soon as you can. Provenza's an awful handful and I can't keep him in check all by myself. I don't think I ever told you this but do you know how long I've loved you? Even before you joined Major Crimes. I didn't even know it but it's the reason I was so angry with you during that first case you handled with that supermarket shooting. I shouted and I yelled and I blamed you for stupid things because what I really wanted to do was kiss you. Right there outside of the crime lab. So instead of breaking the chain of command and laying a big and highly inappropriate kiss on your beautiful mouth, I got pissed off. It was easier to get mad at you than to deal with the real emotion underneath. Sometimes I go back to that day in my head and wonder what would have happened if I _had_ kissed you."

Andy rubbed her hand gently. His thumb brushed over her engagement ring and he leaned down to kiss the tips of her fingers.

A nurse came in. "Mr. Flynn, Sharon's sister is here. She'd like to see her if you could just step out for a few moments. We can only have one of you in here at a time."

Andy nodded. "Okay." He got up and walked to the door. Turning, he stood and looked back at Sharon for a long moment before retreating to get Sam. And while Sam visited with her sister, Andy stayed as close to Sharon's door as the staff would allow.

* * *

When the 911 call from the man in the Mercedes came in, it was Sanchez and Sykes who had happened to be closest in proximity to the warehouse. When they arrived, Sharon had already been taken away in the ambulance and they had gotten the word that Korski was locked inside the warehouse.

"I don't want you two setting a toe in that warehouse," warned Finley over the radio. "Wait for backup."

Sanchez paced outside. "I hope that bastard gives me a reason to nail him," he whispered.

Once backup did arrive, it didn't take them long to discover the bolted door scrawled with Sharon's warning note in black paint. Sanchez was itching to get in there. Four officers flanked the bolted door, including Sykes, while Julio carefully unbolted the door.

Checking his corners, he made certain that the room was clear.

 _It was completely empty_.

The moment was a tense one; every officer there felt an uneasy dread that Korski had somehow escaped. "Bathroom," mouthed Sanchez.

He was just rounding the corner to the bathroom when Korski lunged at him with a wild cry, knife raised. Sanchez didn't hesitate. He fired two shots that landed square in the suspect's chest and watched him crumple to the floor like a twisted marionette.


	11. Chapter 11

Louie Provenza was definitely going to skip the gym later; he was getting more than his fair share of exercise doing laps around the massive hospital parking garage with Rusty. He had been in such a mad rush to get Andy to the hospital that he hadn't paid any attention to where his car was parked. The parking garage was massive. They were just about to do yet another lap around the third floor when a snazzy Camaro convertible in midnight blue pulled up alongside them.

"You boys need a ride?" Samantha Leary asked them with a tiny shake of her honey-blonde head.

"Oh, thank God," mumbled Provenza. "Get in, kid. Rusty and I seem to have uh…miscalculated regarding the location of our car."

"We're lost," clarified Rusty.

Provenza shot him a look. "I don't get lost. I just change where I want to go."

Samantha grinned. "I like that philosophy, Louie. Can I use that?"

"Only if you give me credit."

"Deal. I had the same problem locating my car but I was lucky; one of the parking attendants knew exactly where I had parked."

That wasn't a surprise to Provenza. Camaro convertibles were not exactly a dime a dozen. But aside from that, Sam was memorable. She was a beautiful woman-but it was more than that. There was something distinctive about her, some indefinable quality that made her un-average in a multitude of ways. She was unapologetically eccentric and it translated into a healthy self-confidence that could only be described as magnetic. Provenza couldn't help but admire her unrepentant take-me-or-leave-me attitude.

"You know, we could drive around this monstrosity of a parking garage again or we could go to this cute little bistro on Manderly. Recharge our batteries. I'm not really hungry but I know I should eat."

"Food," agreed Rusty and Provenza in unison.

"Did you get to see her?" asked Rusty.

"Yes, honey. But she was asleep. They want her resting for a while. Andy's with her."

"Is she going to be okay? And don't tell me what you think I want to hear. Tell me like it is," cautioned Rusty.

"My sister is a force to be reckoned with. If she's true to form, she'll be just fine-if only to demonstrate her innate superiority to us lesser mortals. Sharon's an overachiever to the core." Sam readjusted her rear view mirror so that Rusty wouldn't see the tears that were beginning to form. "Aside from that, she'd damned well better be okay because I can't survive without her."

* * *

Provenza would later wonder which event had set the course for his current circumstances. Maybe he never should have gotten into that convertible. Or it could have been lunch, a lunch in which three people who were desperately worried about someone that they collectively cared about managed to pretend joke and smile over the garlic parmesan bread and creamy corn chowder, ignoring the fact that the food went largely untouched. Sam hid her emotions behind humor with an occasional dash of sarcasm. Provenza understood that psychology only too well, although with him it was always far more than a dash of derision. If it wasn't lunch then maybe it was the fact that they somehow didn't manage to get back for his car. Andy had called rather late to update that the hospital was sending Sharon for an MRI and her doctor still wouldn't allow visitors until they were certain that the concussive swelling was going back to normal. Maybe the whole thing happened because Provenza had offered to spend the night at Andy's so that Sam and Rusty wouldn't have to be alone. See what happens when you try to be a nice guy?

The two bottles of wine that he and Sam had consumed had surely contributed, a refreshingly luscious Chardonnay with overtones of pear and honey with an oak finish. They talked about Sharon. As the bottles of wine grew more and more empty, the intensity of their interaction grew. Their situation was classic, Provenza realized later. Grief and anxiety over a loved one often made strange bedfellows. The rapid heartbeat and the frenzied kisses beat back the desolation and the darkness. Even so, Provenza had not seen it coming until it was far too late and Sam was suddenly hurriedly buttoning her blouse back up while he zipped up his pants through the blearily uncomfortable haze of too much alcohol. They hadn't even gotten fully undressed. It had been a quick, desperate tumble on the impeccably made guest bed in the cheerful white and yellow room.

Provenza had just slept with his best friend's twin sister who was also happened to be the sister of his direct supervisor. And said supervisor was recovering from a traumatic brain injury along with uncertain psychological distress. Could it be any worse?

He was too old for this. Wasn't age supposed to foster wisdom?

"Louie, you don't have to look so funereal," grumbled Samantha as she fastidiously straightened her skirt and scanned the floor for her underwear. "I knew exactly what I was doing. I don't regret it…and I won't tell the boss."

She sounded like Sharon in that moment and it made Provenza's head hurt even more.

He cringed at the word _boss_. What an ungodly, unholy, indescribable mess. If he apologized it would make it seem like he regretted it. But he felt like he _should_ apologize. It was wrong, after all, wasn't it? She was vulnerable; they were half drunk. Rusty was two room's down for God sake. He was supposed to be a supportive, affirming presence.

She had initiated it but that didn't make it acceptable. He should have been a gentleman, should have shown some restraint.

_I really am a colossal asshole_ _**.** _

* * *

Andy was running on fumes. He hadn't slept in forty-eight hours and it was taking its toll. He wanted to be awake for her when Sharon came to. It was past eleven PM when yet another doctor asked him to leave the room for a few minutes so that they could evaluate Sharon's condition. They had stopped the sedative so she should wake up soon, they promised.

He went to the bathroom and then brushed his teeth. He looked a mess. He desperately needed a shower and a change of clothes but these things hadn't been high no his priority list. Emerging from the restroom, a nurse came over to him.

"She's awake, Mr. Flynn. You can go in. She's asking for you."

Andy rushed to Sharon's room, practically colliding with the doctor who was just exiting.

"Sorry!" he called dismissively and didn't stop.

"Andy…." Sharon called his name as soon as she recognized his figure coming through the doorway.

Andy was petrified that he'd hurt her so he hugged her with a restraint that he didn't feel. It was like a person dying of thirst trying to dredge out the last few precious drops of water from a glass with a straw. It wasn't enough. He wanted to consume her in one gulp, to immerse himself in her until she was the only persistent force in his consciousness.

She clung to him and pressed her body up against him as much as she could. Her efforts were thwarted by unaccommodating tubes and cumbersome cords. She wanted to pull everything off so that she could embrace him properly. She wanted him to wrap himself around her, to completely envelop her in the warmth and security of his body.

He felt the soft press of her forehead against his chest. Reflexively, Andy slipped his fingers into her hair and unintentionally nudged the thick bump on her head. He cursed himself for his carelessness when Sharon gasped, withdrawing from her with a repentant apology.

"It's all right," she assured him. But he wouldn't risk hurting her again and merely reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers and feeling her answering squeeze.

"How are you feeling?" Andy asked.

"Better. I want to go home," Sharon pleaded. And then she began to cry. Sharon wasn't normally a crier. And he had never heard her cry like this. She sobbed with abandon, shoulders shaking and body trembling.

"Oh, sweetheart….don't." Andy held her to the best of his ability, given her position in the bed and the awkwardness of the medical equipment surrounding her.

"I'm sorry. I kept it together. I really did. This is the first time that I've been able to-"

"Shhhhhhh," he soothed her. "I'll hold you through it. I'm right here, baby." She snuffled. His words seemed to calm her. She continued to cry but the intensity of her grief was lessened.

"I thought that I was going to die there," admitted Sharon. She hadn't faced it at the time, hadn't voiced it. But she had. The fear had loomed, constantly.

Sharon suddenly went rigid in Andy's arms and he experienced a shocking second of her pure panic. "Where is he?" she asked, petrified. She could still see those pale, anemic blue eyes and hear the effeminate sound of his laugh. She began to feel the familiar sense of claustrophobia that she had experienced every time he had entered the room. She was bound, alone. The shrill sound of a metal chair scraping over a concrete floor invaded her brain.

"He's dead, honey. Sanchez shot him." Sharon relaxed again; she came back to herself, back to the hospital, back to Andy.

"Could you hand me a tissue?" she asked. Andy reached over and grabbed the box. He pulled out a few Kleenex and he leaned over her. With quiet tenderness, he blotted at her tearstained face and then followed the gesture with the affectionate caress of loving hands over her cheeks.

"Please take me home."

"I will. As soon as they say it's okay. We'll go home. You know, everybody is talking about how amazing you are and what you did," he praised her.

"I was lucky."

"You single handedly showed up the LAPD. I'd say it was a trifle more than luck, Shar."

"You would have found me," she assured him. Sharon proceeded to ask questions about the day of the baseball game; she still couldn't remember the events of the afternoon from lunch with Provenza and Sykes to Andy going to the game. He filled her in. And after, Sharon reciprocated by telling him about her kidnapping. She wanted to do it there in the hospital and leave it there. She didn't want to take it home with her, didn't want to re-live it any more than necessary.

Dr. Murphy came in an hour later and found that Sharon was sitting up. Andy had an arm around her shoulders. The man looked exhausted enough to keel over right then and there.

"All right, Miss Sharon," she said with a smile, "how are we feeling?"

"Better."

"Dizzy?"

"No.

"Headache?"

"Slight. Minor."

"Anxiety level?"

"Improved," answered Sharon.

Dr. Murphy scanned Sharon's chart. "A common effect of a concussion is heightened mood and emotion. That could linger for the next seven to ten days but should settle down. I'm going to give you something for anti-anxiety once you're released and I want you to take it, even if you're feeling okay. It'll be a low dose. I'm going to send you for an MRI and if I'm happy with the results, I'll get you out of ICU. You and I are going to take a little walk so we can gauge how you are doing with those motor functions and Mr. Flynn here is going to stay here and take a nap in that chair before he topples over."

Thankfully, the MRI came back with positive results and Sharon was moved out of ICU early the following morning. She was even allowed to have visitors-family only. Ryan and his wife came first and were followed shortly after by Kate. After that, Samantha and Rusty arrived with a large bouquet of flowers. Samantha pretended that Rusty was her son and Sharon's nephew to dodge the "family-only" restriction and Rusty teased her mercilessly by referring to her as "Aunty Sharon."

"Any idea when they're going to spring you?" Rusty asked.

"Soon, I hope," answered Sharon. "I hope you weren't alone last night with Andy being here with me." Sharon stroked Rusty's hair.

"I stayed with him," Samantha assured her sister.

"And Lieutenant Provenza stayed, too." added Rusty. "Hey, did he ever get his car back?"

Samantha nodded. "Yup." She was suddenly extremely interested in the corner of Sharon's blanket.

"His car?" asked Sharon.

"Poor guy couldn't find his car; it was temporarily lost in the huge parking garage here so he was stuck with us for a little while in the interim," Samantha explained breezily. She was eager to change the subject.

Dr. Murphy came into the room and Sam was silently grateful for the interruption. "Okay, everybody out so we can get this lady discharged."

"Yay," said Rusty.

"Really?" queried Sharon.

"Yes, ma'am. I have some final instructions. Mr. Flynn can stay." She waited for the room to clear out before continuing. "Okay, first, Sharon can't be alone for the next seven days. No exceptions. Someone needs to be at home with her at all times. We'll follow up with you on the fifth. If you feel dizzy or nauseated, I want you to come in. If she passes out, obviously you call 911. You need to rest, Sharon, so take it easy. No driving, no exercise, no laundry, no dishes, no heavy lifting." A little gleam appeared in her eyes. "No sex….nothing strenuous for the next two weeks. Then we'll go from there." She jotted something down on Sharon's chart.

"Questions?"

"Do I have to come back to have the stitches removed from my rib cage?"

"Nope. They'll dissolve."

"Do you think I'll have a scar?" asked Sharon.

"Maybe. But it shouldn't be significant."

Sharon nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Murphy."

"It's been a pleasure." She gave Sharon a light hug. "You two may want to be aware that you might have some media folks hovering around. You're quite the story." The doctor sighed. "Bunch of vultures. You'd think they'd have the common courtesy to let you get out of the hospital before descending but nope."

"Don't worry; I'll take care of her." Andy kissed Sharon's cheek. "Thanks again, doc."

Dr. Murphy smiled at them. "I'd love a wedding photo when you two do get to that altar."

Andy grinned. "You got it."


	12. Chapter 12

Dr. Murphy was correct in her warning about the media. A group of eager reporters and photographers waited for them just outside the hospital exit. Andy had Sharon wait inside with hospital security while he brought the car right to the door and protectively whisked her away so that she would not be assaulted with questions by the buzzing throng.

"You all right?" Andy asked, looking over at her once they were out of the hospital parking garage.

Sharon smiled at him and hummed in response. "Mmmm hmmm. Is Rusty at the house?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Andy. "And Samantha didn't want to go back to San Diego right away so I offered her the guest room. You don't mind, do you?"

"That was thoughtful of you. I'm glad she's going to stay with us for a little while."

"Ryan had a deadline on a new product enrollment and they couldn't spare him but he and Elle will be back on the weekend. Kate's going to stay tonight. She said she doesn't mind rooming with her aunt. I'm on leave for at least the next couple of weeks so you'll have plenty of company."

They were stopped at a red light so Sharon reached over for Andy's hand. "I'm glad." Sharon wouldn't admit it to Andy or to anyone else but she didn't want to be alone. She knew that Dr. Murphy had requested that she not be left by herself because of her head injury. But the truth was Sharon needed her family around her right now. She felt fragmented, as if there were pieces of her that hadn't shifted back into place yet; she craved stability and safety, light and warmth. She still felt the warehouse, its sounds and smells, the accompanying fear; it coiled around her, a dark slithering eel that swam in the remote spaces of her subconscious poised to strike. She felt the tension in her physical body lurking persistently, even in calm moments. There was a part of her that was still on high alert, defensive, ready to flee. Images and sounds came back to her, especially when her mind was quiet, and it was for that reason in particular that she dreaded being by herself. She had talked a little bit with Dr. Murphy about her fears and she had kindly assured Sharon that what she was feeling was very normal. She also assured her that with time, the memories would fade.

Sharon hoped so. She wanted to feel normal again but at this point it was difficult for her to imagine that she would ever completely revert to the Sharon that she had been before the kidnapping. She didn't want to let it change her; to live in fear gave Korski even more power, allowed him to take even more from her than he had already. She felt impatient with herself, frustrated with her vulnerability. Raw heaviness pressed on her chest as they approached the house. The garage loomed, waiting for her, slick with memories. She didn't want to enter the house through that entrance and yet conversely, she didn't want to tell Andy. It made her feel too exposed. It was stupid; she was being impossible. She suddenly felt as if she was going to cry and she despised herself for her weakness.

Without a word, Andy pulled into the driveway; he did not pull the car into the garage. There was a camera crew waiting to spring on them at the end of their property line. As he maneuvered the car into the space, Andy felt Sharon's mounting uneasiness. It came off of her in waves, like asphalt that radiates compressed heat on a particularly blistering day. Andy silently cursed the media for their blatant insensitivity.

"Stay right there, Shar, and don't make eye contact," Andy warned. "It's kind of like encountering a grizzly bear," he added derisively.

He got out of his side of the car. A band of reporters clambered onto the driveway.

"Listen, folks," Andy told them succinctly, "She is _not_ making any kind of statement. Please….kindly respect our privacy."

One particularly eager reporter, a brown eyed sleek-haired brunette in a red and gray suit shoved a microphone into Andy's face.

"Mr. Flynn, sources indicate that Mrs. Raydor was found half-dressed and handcuffed at the side of the freeway, can you comment on the accuracy of that report?"

Anger surged through Andy like an electrical current, instantaneous and furious. An image flashed in his mind. He'd seen it one of the news networks yesterday. Some passerby had gotten a shot of Sharon before the ambulance had arrived. She was handcuffed; the part about her being half-dressed was an exaggeration. Her blouse was torn at the shoulder. She had looked frightened and sick. Whoever had taken that photo had no soul and neither did the network who had dared to air it. "My comment is – back the fuck off." The words were a menacing growl. The reporter's callousness and distortion of the truth brought out every single one of Andy's protective instincts. He rarely had such potent fits of anger since he had quit drinking but this moment was an exception. He wanted to hit something. Hard.

Instead, he opened Sharon's car door and wrapped an arm around her, shielding her from the reporters. Once they were safely inside, he promptly turned on the sprinklers. This action was met with a collective cry of soggy outrage as the reporters scattered. It wasn't long before not even one of them remained.

Rusty had observed the scene from the window. "Nice maneuver there, Andy," he complimented proudly.

"Thanks, kid." But Andy didn't feel particularly proud of himself. He hadn't wanted Sharon's homecoming to be a scene but there it was. Already, he was thinking of better ways he could have handled things. _Damn me and my temper._ But when those reporters had gone for Sharon like that, they had hit his jugular. He was still pulsing with rage.

Wasting no time, Rusty had pulled Sharon into a hug and Andy simply watched them. Her face was so pale and she'd lost weight, maybe not a significant amount but enough that he noticed. She wasn't very big to begin with. Andy couldn't wrap his head around the fact that only a couple of weeks ago he'd laid his heart at her feet at the opera and asked her to marry him. She had looked so vibrant then, richly colored like autumn leaves at the height of the season. He vowed that he would do everything in his power to help her to recover and heal. Like Orpheus descending into the Underworld, he would enter the darkness to restore her to light and life and love.

"You need a haircut," Sharon told Rusty. "Look at this hair, it's getting long." She pressed her forehead against his and took a few strands of hair in between the tips of her fingers.

"Yeah…I was thinking about letting it grow. What do you think?"

"I think that's up to you," she smiled.

"Oh, come on Sharon; I want advice."

"I like it above your shoulders," Sharon admitted.

"I'll take that under advisement," Rusty affirmed with a self-important air.

Sharon made a sound that was one step close to a laugh. It was progress.

Kate stepped into the living room and rushed over to her mother. Her auburn hair was damp. "Mom!" She hugged Sharon tightly, a real hug, not the half-embraces that she had given her in the hospital due to all of that medical equipment getting in the way. "I was in the shower. I didn't hear you come in. Rusty, did you um…?"

"I didn't show her yet."

"Can we?" queried Kate.

"Come on," Rusty grabbed both of Sharon's hands in his and pulled her up from the couch.

Sharon was already surprised and she wasn't even aware of the real surprise yet. She had never seen Rusty and Kate so amicable. Rusty continued to hold one hand and Kate took the other. They led her into the dining room. The table was set beautifully with Andy's grandmother's rose china from Italy. Rose colored candles were lit and there was a vase of cream colored roses, the tips of their petals edged with a blush of pink at the center of the table.

"Kate and I cooked you dinner," explained Rusty.

"We made your favorites, Mom," said Kate warmly. "Chicken masala, baby carrots in a honey glaze, roasted Brussels sprouts, and red bliss garlic mashed potatoes. Aunt Samantha took care of dessert but that's her surprise. She ran out to get a bottle of Chardonnay. She'll be right back."

"You two did this by yourselves?"

"Rusty's a great cook," Kate praised sincerely. "We did it while Andy was at the hospital with you. Figured it would give us a distraction while we waited. We wanted to do something special for you."

"Hope you're hungry," grinned Andy. He leaned against the alcove, toothpick in his mouth, just looking at Sharon.

"Thank you," Sharon whispered. "This is so wonderful. Do I have time to take a quick shower before we eat?"

"Sure you do, Sharon," said Rusty.

"I think Andy could use one, too," mumbled Kate.

"Kate!" exclaimed Sharon, giving her daughter a _look_.

"Just saying…."

"It's okay; she's right. I probably smell like a goat. You go first, Sharon."

Sharon nodded and headed straight for the bathroom. She had never seen Andy and Kate joking with one another before. Usually their interactions consisted of glaring and scowling with a well-timed scathing remark thrown in for good measure, usually on her daughter's part. Maybe something positive could come out of this nightmare after all.

Sharon lingered in the shower longer than she intended to but the hot water felt amazing. It soothed sore muscles and relaxed her body. She scrubbed every inch of herself thoroughly, wanting to completely eradicate any residue from her ordeal. If only it were as easy and uncomplicated as rinsing a few bad memories down the drain. If it could just be that easy.

Samantha arrived with wine and dessert, a decadent freshly made banana cream pie from a local gourmet bakery. Andy learned that Sam disliked cooking about as much as Sharon did and it dawned on him why. Growing up, their meals were prepared for them. They didn't have a bustling family kitchen with grandmothers making homemade marinara sauce and husbands getting a slap from their wives as they sampled the eggplant parmesan before it was ready to be served. He liked being able to give her something that she'd never had, even if it was just a very little something. It was only fair, after all, as she completed him in so many countless ways, both big and small.

After dinner Andy and Samantha cleaned up, refusing Sharon's repeated offers to do anything and finally telling Rusty and Kate to force Sharon into relaxation. They ended up playing a game of Scrabble. As the night wore on, it became clear to Andy that Sharon didn't want to go to bed. It was well past midnight and she was clearly exhausted; so was everyone else. It was almost two by then. Sam and Kate had gone to bed. Rusty was doing his best to stay up but Andy knew that the kid would move mountains for Sharon. He'd stay up until he were hallucinating if it would please her.

As they finished up another hand of gin, Andy leaned over and whispered softly in Sharon's ear, "You look exhausted, Shar, and so does the kid."

Sharon looked over at Rusty. Andy was right. He looked very tired. Truthfully, she was tired, too and there was a dull ache in her head that was slowly becoming stronger. But bed meant darkness and quiet. Without stimulation, her mind could wander anywhere. She was not looking forward to the prospect. But Andy would be there, she reminded herself. Even if she was afraid about what her dreams might bring her, she liked the idea of crawling into bed with him, cozy and safe.

Would she ever really feel safe?

"Rusty, honey," Sharon said softly, "I'm going to head to bed." She kissed him on the cheek. "You have classes tomorrow?"

"Yeah but…"

"I want you to go to school," said Sharon firmly. "Andy and Sam will be with me; don't worry."

Rusty sighed. "Okay, Sharon," he agreed. He hugged her. "I love you," he told her into her hair.

Sharon squeezed him. "I love you, too."

* * *

In their bedroom, Sharon slipped on a short lavender silk nightgown and hung the matching robe over the chaise lounge in case she got up in the middle of the night. It was her habit. It was good, Andy reflected, to see her robe laying there again, good to see such a familiar gesture. Sharon slid into bed and Andy did the same on the other side. They reached for one another immediately. Sharon shivered against the cool sheets that hadn't yet warmed up from their body heat. Andy wrapped his arms around her. He was shirtless. The silky fabric that covered her was just a whisper, a hint of coverage. They came together under the sheets and blankets, body to body. They fell easily into familiar places. His lips found the top of her head, freshly fragrant from her shower. Her cheek rested against his chest. Andy reached over to turn off the lamp, stretching his arm out far so that he wouldn't lose contact with her.

The darkness and the silence, Sharon decided, as she nestled into Andy - were not so frightening after all.


	13. Chapter 13

Andy had wondered if he would ever have this again, the glint of moonlight across his pillow and Sharon resting in his arms. He could have lost her. She, so easily, could have slipped through his cupped hands like water. He should have fallen asleep quickly; he was beyond tired. But sleep was slow to come and when it did, he slept lightly, as if a part of him had to be conscious enough to be certain that she was there with him.

At a little before 4 AM, Andy's fragile sleep evaporated in the fleeting space of an instant. Sharon bolted up in bed beside him to a sitting position and she emitted a piercing scream that had Andy up in seconds. She did not thrash about or move her limbs. It was as if she had been violently awakened, literally pushed with the tremendous force of an electrical current from a sleeping to a waking state. Her body was rigid with tension; her stillness was a direct byproduct of her fear.

"Sharon, Sharon…it's Andy. You're all right." The scream died in her throat and she was suddenly sobbing incoherently. Andy pulled her against his chest and rocked her. Her sobbing split him in half, a cruel pain that bit into the innermost depths of his heart. It was a puncture wound that struck him at the core, relentless and sharp. It left him on the verge of tears himself. Through watery eyes, he observed the hall light being switched on as it suddenly appeared under his door and was immediately followed by an urgent knock.

"Come in."

The door opened and it was both Samantha and Kate who appeared, looking disheveled and bleary with sleep. "Is she all right?" Kate asked in a small voice. Never, in her thirty-one years, had she seen her mother so distraught. Of course she had seen Sharon cry but it had always been contained. She had always had some semblance of control over it. But this was like fire or wind or water; it had an elemental power, chaotic and without boundary. It encompassed Sharon and everyone who witnessed it. It came from a deep, primitive place and resounded outward, touching all of them.

"Nightmare," explained Andy. "Can you get me a clean nightgown, a damp cloth, and a towel?" Andy asked.

"I'll get it," said Sam and she hurriedly went to retrieve the items.

Sam was back in less than a minute. She handed the cloth to Andy and left the nightgown and towel next to him. Gently, she pulled Kate toward the door.

"He'll take care of her," she assured her niece. "You'll come get us if she needs anything? Or if you need anything?"

"Yeah, thanks."

The women left, closing the door behind them.

Sharon was covered in sweat. She clung to Andy with the desperation of a drowning woman. He simply held her. This was a grief that would not submit to words; it was primal, non-verbal. It rose up from the depths and it would not be reasoned with. Her sobs slowly dissolved into broken words and then sentences. "He had a pillow over my face. And I could feel the weight of his body on me. And I could taste the chloroform." She gulped for air. It was a childlike sound. "I couldn't breathe."

"It was a nightmare," Andy promised. "A bad dream. You're home with me. In our bed….safe."

He stroked her hair and caressed her back while he continued rocking her, a gentle, swaying motion. She was inconsolable. Eventually, Sharon's sobs began to dissipate slowly until she made no sounds at all and he could just feel her tiny spasms. Somehow those silent, ineffable tears tore at Andy the most. Finally, she went limp in his arms and Andy realized that she had fallen back asleep. For a moment he was concerned that she was still shaking until he realized that she wasn't. She was still. _He_ was the one shaking.

He wouldn't risk waking her so he merely patted her body down with the towel and released her into the cool sheets. He pressed a kiss against her bare shoulder and held her lightly so that she would not be too warm. It didn't seem like enough, this meager comfort, a paltry thing next to the immensity of her anguish. He felt inadequate and unequipped to help her, and angry with himself for not having been able to prevent her suffering in the first place.

Sharon woke first; it was nearly noon. Sunlight slanted through the blinds. She could tell from the brightness of the room, even without looking at the clock, that it was late. She was a morning person and so was Andy; they never slept this late. As soon as Sharon sat up, Andy opened his eyes, deep-brown eyes like the earth after a rain. Warm. She saw the worry in them as he gazed at her, the silent un-asked question.

"I'm okay," Sharon assured him. She leaned over and kissed his cheek before sliding out of bed and reaching for her robe. "I slept surprisingly well." Andy glanced at the clock and shuffled out of bed, too.

"You mean after the - " Andy stopped. She didn't remember. He could tell by her expression. She believed that she had slept, undisturbed, through the night.

"After what?"

Andy could lie. A neighbor's car alarm, him knocking a lamp over, a late night phone call….it was tempting. He didn't want to hurt her. If she was under the illusion that she had had an uninterrupted night's sleep, why disturb her peace of mind? If she hadn't been looking at him, in that moment, he probably would have – just to spare her. But those green eyes were fastened on him and he saw the implicit trust there. He couldn't deceive her. She would know. And even if she wouldn't, he knew that although it might save her from a moment of pain, it would only catch up with her later and she needed to be able to trust him. Andy sighed. Honesty was the best policy but that didn't make it any less appealing.

"You had a nightmare. About four in the morning; no big deal."

"What did I do?" Sharon asked uncertainly. "I don't remember."

"You were startled, that's all. I held you and you fell back asleep. Nothing to worry about. It's not uncommon, Shar, after a traumatic experience." He brushed an unruly wave of red hair from her cheek. "Your subconscious is working things out."

Sharon hummed. Her hums were a vocabulary in and of themselves, Andy had discovered. She spoke a veritable language of humming. There was the I-told-you-so hum, the puzzled hum, the annoyed hum, the aroused hum (oh, he liked that one), the pensive hum, the playful hum, the drowsy hum, and the deliberating hum – among others. This hum was the deliberating kind. It meant that she was considering the information, weighing what he had told her. His beloved, introspective Sharon would turn the information over in that keen, perceptive, infinitely intricate mind of hers. She would process it and she would make a judgment and form an opinion. And she wouldn't share it until she was good and ready. Andy used to find her inscrutable. Her poker face was one of her greatest assets as a police officer. Once, she would have been able to conceal her feelings from him for an indefinite length of time if she so chose. But he was onto her. He had cracked the Sharon Code, perhaps not all of it, but enough that he could read her, even if it might take him a little time. He knew the subtle changes of intonation in her voice, the posture of her eyes, a certain way that she would move her body – subtle indicators of her mood and heart. It was a knowledge that had come with loving her and loving Sharon Raydor was one of the best things that he had ever done.

"How's your head this morning?" Andy asked her.

"It's fine. I don't hurt. Not my head anyway."

Andy frowned. "You want to talk about it?" He wouldn't force her to.

She shook her head. "I'm all right, Andy. Really." Sharon was going to leave the bedroom to go to the bathroom but she paused in the door frame. It was her turn to look at Andy. He looked tired. The little playful smile that he almost always wore was absent. There was something hollow in his expression. He looked a little lost and more than a little sad. As she looked at him, Sharon could only imagine what this must be like for him. If he had gone missing, she would have been out of her mind. The previous forty-eight hours must have been hell.

"Come over here," she invited him softly. He did. "A little closer," she coaxed.

He moved closer. They were nearly nose to nose.

"Look at me," said Sharon. She took his face in her hands, very gently. "I'm going to be all right. _We_ are going to be all right."

Sharon kissed him then, a softly drawn out promise, an oath, an affirmation.

"Do you believe me?" she asked him as she drew back.

"Yes," Andy whispered.

"How about we treat this leave from work like a vacation? When do we get to spend time together without work and cases and cell phones ringing?"

"Rarely."

"Exactly," said Sharon. "Seeing as it's after noontime, how about we skip breakfast and lunch and go right for dessert? I want ice cream," Sharon announced with declamatory decisiveness.

"Ice cream?"

"Soft serve," she clarified. "What do you think? Get out of here, get a little change of scenery? Maybe take a ride down by the water? If I sit here, I just think about it. I can't be too much alone in my own head. I need distraction. I need a little distance from what happened. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, yes it does." Andy was glad that Sharon could tell him what she needed; he knew that it wasn't always easy for her to do that.

"As long as you feel up to it, I'll take you anywhere you want to go. I think Kate had to leave early to get back to San Diego for work and Rusty's at school, but Sam might want to come. I'll ask her."

As it turned out, Samantha had gone out for a run. She left a little note on Sharon's magnetic white board that was kept on the side of the fridge.

_Went out for a run. Be back in a bit. I drank a whole pot of coffee by myself. Wheeee! - Samantha_

Sharon scrawled a quick note for Samantha before she and Andy left so that Sam wouldn't worry.

Provenza had been charged with the duty of bringing an arrangement of flowers over to Sharon and Andy's. Brenda and the Major Crimes squad wanted to visit, but they all wanted to give Sharon a couple of days just to spend time with her family. Sykes , that cheapskate, had wanted to save money on a delivery charge and Provenza lived nearby so he was the obvious choice to be the flower courier.

He was not happy about it. Although he _did_ want to check on Sharon and Andy, he wanted to avoid Sam. Maybe she'd forget about their little encounter. Okay, that wasn't going to happen but at the very least, he needed a forty-eight hour buffer zone. Was that too much to ask? He would leave the flowers and run. Yes, that was the only mature and sensible course of action. With this brilliant plan in mind, he strode up the front steps and knocked faintly. _Ah, well…no one home._

Provenza was inches away from a clean getaway when he heard the front door open. He walked a little faster and pretended not to hear it.

"You know, Louie, you kind of fail at the whole knocking thing. I would never have heard your girly knock if I hadn't been in the living room."

Provenza stopped and closed his eyes for a brief moment before turning around.

"You do know there's a doorbell?"continued Sam. She motioned to the very prominent doorbell to her right.

"Hi Sam. I didn't want to disturb Sharon," he explained.

Sam bent down and picked up the bouquet. "These are really pretty. Oh, and have no fear of disturbing Sharon. She and Andy went out for a bit. They won't be gone long. Why don't you come in and keep me company until they get back?"

She smiled at him. Her hair was lightly damp, like she'd recently gotten out of the shower. She looked awfully good in those jeans and that black tee-shirt. But that was exactly the train of thought that had gotten him into this mess. Well no, actually it was shared grief and too much wine that had done it—but either way he shouldn't be noticing her, not that way. This was all wrong.

Provenza didn't know what would have been worse, having to face Samantha in front of Sharon and Andy or having to face her alone, just the two of them, as they were now. Being alone with her was just such a terrible idea.

His mouth opened to make up some excuse as to why he couldn't stay. An appointment to have his car serviced, a visit to the dentist, having to drive someone to the airport, malaria. Really, anything would do. But somehow his mouth and his feet decided not to cooperate with one another. Because when Samantha opened the door and held it out for him, his recalcitrant feet somehow found their way inside.


	14. Chapter 14

After stopping for ice cream, Sharon and Andy walked hand in hand on the beach. They had left their shoes in the car. Sharon found herself hypersensitive about people looking at her, wondering if they were just casual glances or if they studied her because they were trying to figure out if she were the woman who had escaped her kidnapper who had been all over the news. It was difficult enough having to deal with the aftermath of an abduction but the forced celebrity status was an added burden. She found it invasive and uncomfortable. At the hospital, she had seen a picture flashed of herself on the news as she was waiting for the police and ambulance to arrive, before they had removed the handcuffs from her wrists and before her injuries had been treated. Did people know how humiliating that was? No doubt her family had seen it. It pained her to think that the people that she loved most in the world had had to see that, Ryan and Kate, her sister…Andy.

"Sharon?" Andy was looking at her intently.

"Oh, sweetheart…I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't hear a thing you said."

"It's okay," Andy answered patiently. He suppressed the desire to ask if she were all right. It was hard walking that line, wanting to be there for her unquestionably but also wanting to give her enough space to work through her feelings without feeling smothered.

"I was saying that I should get you out of the sun before you burn to a crisp."

Sharon nodded. She had forgotten all about sunscreen. Usually she was on top of things like that since she did burn easily but it hadn't crossed her mind. "Okay," she agreed. "Please make note of what a model patient I'm being," she added.

With one arm around her, Andy caressed her back as they walked, her skin bare at the top of her sundress. He grinned at her. "Duly noted."

A jogger came toward them, slowing down as she saw Sharon. Her blonde ponytail bounced against the back of her neck as she moved. She looked to be in her early twenties, probably a college student.

"Hey," she said as she caught her breath, "Look, I'm sorry to bother but I just had to stop and tell you how awesome I think you are. What you did, getting away from that guy was just incredible. I hope I didn't offend you by stopping."

"Not at all," answered Sharon. "Thank you." Not wanting to intrude any further on a private moment, the jogger continued on her way.

"My future wife…the super hero," Andy told Sharon affectionately as they continued to walk back to the car. "You really are, you know."

Sharon blushed. She looked at Andy. "It's nice to know that not everyone sees me as a victim."

Andy looked hurt. "You don't mean me, do you?"

Sharon leaned more closely into him. "No, not you. Never you. The media. That's what I was thinking about earlier and why I was so quiet."

When they reached the car, Andy put the windows down for them right away so that the car would cool off quickly. Before he started the engine, he turned toward Sharon.

"I was thinking about something, Shar. Ryan's going to be a dad in a few months. I've got my grandkids who come to visit. My house is getting up there in years. Maybe we should think about getting something a little bigger. We both have time on our hands for a little bit so we could actually go house-hunting together."

Sharon considered this. "Is this because of what happened?" she asked.

It was. Partially. But Andy wasn't going to tell Sharon that. The truth was, he'd never be able to walk into that garage again without thinking about Korski, dragging the woman he loved into that dark Jeep. If he felt that way, he could only imagine what it would be like for her. He truly did think that they could use some more room and he liked the idea of starting fresh with her with a brand new house, something that they could make entirely theirs. He had toyed with the idea even before the incident, right around the time he proposed. But Sharon's abduction definitely made the notion seem like a necessity rather than a luxury. It would be good for both of them to get out of there, he reasoned. Looking for a house might also boost her spirits, give her a positive focus, and help her heal. Honestly, he didn't see any downside. It wasn't like they couldn't afford it.

"No, Sharon. I really think we could use the extra room. And I'd kind of like to get you that window seat that you've always wanted." Sharon leaned over Andy's seat and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I love you," she said softly into his shoulder.

"I love you, too, baby. Can I take that as a yes?"

Sharon nodded. "Can we start looking tomorrow?" she asked.

"Absolutely."

* * *

Provenza followed Samantha into the kitchen. She was a chameleon as far as personal styles go. On the night that he'd spent at the house with her and Rusty, she was dressed almost conservatively, in a Banana Republic kind of way – a kind of casual chic that was more like something he'd expect to see on Sharon. This afternoon she looked more trendy with her designer jeans, black V-neck tee-shirt with its intricate purple and turquoise Goth design, and short high heel boots. It looked good on her. But Provenza suspected that anything would.

"Something wrong, Louie?" Samantha asked, interrupting his reverie.

"No, you just look different," be blurted out.

Samantha laughed. "Oh, honey, you ain't seen nothing yet. One of my ex-husbands used to say that being married to me made him feel like a polygamist; he was never sure which wife he'd come home to. I like changing my appearance. I blame my parents. They dressed Sharon and me alike as kids. It was lame."

"How _is_ Sharon?" Provenza asked.

The momentary sparkle in Samantha's eyes seemed to vanish. "She's okay. Physically, she's making progress. Thank God it doesn't seem like the head injury is going to cause any permanent problems. That was scary. Emotionally….it's going to take some time. But even there, I think she's coming along. Andy's a big help. My sister's strong. She'll pull through. Even so, it's hard seeing someone you love suffer. I wish I could turn the clock back and erase the whole thing." She sighed. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Just water."

Provenza watched her buzz around the kitchen. She had a vibrant energy, a speed and quickness that infiltrated everything that she did. He tried not to think about the teary, red-eyed Samantha that he'd been with the other night, the one who had poured her heart out about how devastated she'd be if anything happened to Sharon. He'd said things, too, things he would never admit to anyone, about how Andy and Sharon had become like family. He and Samantha had shared tips on marriage, covering everything from the baleful moment when you know something has gone awry to maximizing your divorce attorney's time to the best of your advantage. She was easy to talk to, too easy. He appreciated her bluntness even as he found it occasionally disarming. It stripped him of his caustic defenses; that, he didn't appreciate. Those fortified battlements were there for a damned good reason.

Samantha handed him his glass of water and her fingertips accidentally brushed against his in the exchange. She noticed. She cocked her head to one side ever so slightly after the light contact. A little gleam of mischief appeared in her green eyes and the corners of her mouth turned upward.

"You know, Louie," she told him with a warning tone in her voice, "I will have you know that I have a sadistic streak. You want to avoid a certain subject and it only makes me all the more determined to…. _bring it up_."

He almost choked on his water.

Samantha chuckled. "7:30 on Saturday is acceptable," she informed him with an emphatic shake of her head, "but I'll have to pick you up."

Provenza must have missed a step. "What?"

"Well, you certainly can't pick me up here, unless you want to let Dad-Andy and Mom-Sharon in on what naughty kids we've been," she teased. "We slept together, Louie. We can avoid talking about it but that's not going to magically transform it into something that didn't happen." She waved her hand as if she were waving a wand. "I usually date first and have sex later; this was an exception." She leaned toward him, a fraction of an inch, as if she were telling him something very private and extremely important. "I think I'd like to try the dating part."

While Provenza processed this unexpected information, Samantha hopped up on one of the stools by the kitchen island.

"Samantha-" Provenza began.

"You are not obligated to accept. I'm a big girl. I don't play games and I have a healthy enough ego that I can handle rejection." She grabbed an apple from Andy and Sharon's fruit bowl and took a bite.

"Samantha, it isn't that I don't like you – I do." He sighed. "It's complicated. You're Sharon's sister. Andy's my best friend."

"We're not picking out a china pattern, Louie. I'm just inviting you to dinner. It's not complicated at all. I like you. I think you like me. We'll eat food, we'll drink wine, and we'll chat. I won't even compromise your virtue."

"You are a very strange woman," Provenza informed her irritably. "I'm a cranky old curmudgeon. I'm difficult," he added gruffly.

"How in the world do you manage to have five ex-wives?" Samantha marveled. "That's absolutely terrible advertising, you know." It was clear that she had not been dissuaded. "Besides, that's not the real reason that you're hesitant."

Wasn't she listening to a thing he said? "Ah," Provenza accused and he pointed a finger at her, "So now you're going to tell me how I feel. Wonderful. I love pop psychology."

Samantha laughed. She was completely unfazed by his tone. "No pop psychology involved, I assure you. I hate that stuff, too. Common sense. You're worried that if things go poorly between us that it could compromise your relationship with Andy and Sharon – whom you already stated are like family."

Provenza was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to say something but he couldn't come up with a logical counter-argument because – she was right. It wasn't the entire reason that this whole thing was a dangerously terrible idea but it was a big part of it. She had a lot of nerve, penetrating his defenses and getting right to the heart of the matter with her keen, spot-on assessment. He didn't like it. Not one bit.

"That is absolutely ridic—"

Samantha hopped off of her stool and grabbed Provenza's face in both of her hands. In her booted heels, she was slightly taller than he was. She kissed him and his verbal protest evaporated into something else, something warm and delightful, like an aromatic and delicious sip of fine wine; he couldn't remember what he was going to say anyway, not that it had been particularly cogent. The kiss was just starting to get good when there was the sound of a key in the front door.

The pair broke apart rapidly. To Samantha's credit, Provenza noted, she was the picture of composure. Grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser, she handed it to him.

"My lipstick…"

Provenza swore and wiped his mouth, looking at her for confirmation that he had gotten it all. Samantha nodded.

Andy and Sharon walked into the kitchen. Andy was carrying two grocery bags and Sharon was arguing with him that she could carry something. She looked delicate. That was the first word that crept into Provenza's head when he saw her. It was particularly noticeable to him because Sharon, by her very nature, was not fragile. He recalled how forlorn she'd looked when going through the worst of her divorce; this was more pronounced. Andy looked tired. It wasn't a surprise to see them not looking like themselves. They'd been through a terrible ordeal. But Provenza felt for them. They were good people. They shouldn't have to deal with the kind of pain that fate had brought their way.

"You look like hell, Flynn," Provenza told his friend.

Andy laughed. "Thanks, buddy."

Provenza hugged Sharon. It wasn't awkward. In fact, he held onto her for a couple of moments before releasing her.

"And you look worse," he informed her crossly when he did release her.

Sharon hummed pleasantly. "It's good to see you, too."

"The flowers are for you. From the team." Provenza turned awkwardly and pointed unceremoniously to the vase on the counter. "I hate this sentimental crap," he grumbled. "I'm glad you're all right." His tone was an odd combination of grouchy affection.

Sharon inhaled the scent of one of the roses. "Mmmmm. Thank you."

"The office isn't the same without you and I have to do those compliance audits that I hate. I'm doing a lot of skimming."

Sharon was appalled. "You can't just idly peruse those!" Provenza hid his smile as he got a glimpse of the fussy, persnickety Sharon that they all knew and loved.

Provenza grinned. "Oh, and your files might be a little bit out of order. Oops." He cracked his knuckles. Sharon was extremely particular about her filing system. It was so precise and elaborate that she was the only one who knew how to put things back properly. "All the more reason for you to hurry it up and get better."

Sharon was about to ask which cabinet when she noticed that Provenza, Samantha, and her husband-to-be were all (barely) suppressing their laughter.

"I hate all of you," Sharon huffed with narrowed eyes.

There was a collective release of laughter from the three instigators. Sharon merely glared at them.

"Well, it looks like I've done enough damage here for the moment," chuckled Provenza. "Brenda's going to come by tomorrow," he added. "And if any of you need anything, you know you can call me." For some inexplicable reason, as fate would have it, he found himself looking into Sam's vivid green eyes when he said it. He promptly looked away.

"I'll walk you out, not that you deserve it," said Andy as he walked with Provenza to the door.


	15. Epilogue

Shortly after Provenza left, Rusty arrived home from his classes, dropped his book bag on the floor, and slunk into a chair. He had flunked a recent math test and he was feeling particularly discouraged. Sharon had enough to deal with, he reasoned, and he didn't want to say anything to her. But she could tell that something was wrong and she stubbornly refused to leave him alone until he talked to her about it. After some coaxing and prodding, she finally succeeded in getting him to confide in her.

"I'm never going to use poly-frickin'-nomials," Rusty complained to Sharon as he crankily scrunched up yet another piece of scrap paper. "Can you give me one practical example of when I'm ever going to use this stuff?"

Sharon put a mug of hot cocoa in front of Rusty. It was smothered in whipped cream and dusted with cinnamon. "You might, depending on what you major in. If you're still leaning toward social work, probably not. But that's not really the point, Rusty. Algebra is kind of like chess in that it keeps your mind agile. It's not necessarily meant to be utilitarian but it is a mental exercise for your brain. Colleges want you to be well-rounded, too, so it's important that you're knowledgeable in a variety of disciplines."

"In plain English, kid," Andy chimed in cheerfully as he peeked over the top of his paper, "you're not going to use it but you have to learn it to get your degree. So just get through the course and then you can forget it."

Sharon gave Andy a disapproving look over the rim of her glasses. "You're not helping," she told him flatly. She turned back toward Rusty. "They use polynomials in modern cryptography – for things like information security, data integrity, things like ATM password encryption. If you're really interested, I'm sure Lieutenant Tao could show you some more in depth practical uses."

"I just thought of another one," Andy piped up. "I bet Batman uses them to keep his Bat Cave under wraps."

Rusty laughed and toasted Andy with his mug of cocoa. "Thanks for the hot chocolate, Sharon. This is delicious."

"You're welcome," she replied as she hit Andy on the top of his head with another section of the newspaper. He caught her hand as she leaned over Rusty and his work, idly linking his fingers through hers. This was good, he reflected as he felt the subtle answering squeeze of her hand in his. He was glad the kid had asked her for some help with his homework. It made Andy happy to see Sharon engaged and thoughtful. It was hard for her to be home; she needed stimulation to keep her mind occupied. She thrived on it. But aside from that, sitting there at the kitchen table with her and Rusty felt like home, like peace, like family. It felt blissfully ordinary and they certainly hadn't had much of that lately.

Andy's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of glass breaking. Sharon had accidentally knocked over his glass of water as she was talking to Rusty, barely brushing it with her elbow.

"I'm sorry," she apologized.

Andy got up. "It's okay. Don't touch anything. I'll grab the broom." He got up and walked over to the kitchen closet. When Andy came back, Sharon was staring mutely at the glass on the floor and Rusty had stopped looking at his algebra. Instead, he was studying Sharon with a concerned expression.

_The metal chair had made such a loud noise as she hit it against the mirror. With a fluttery feeling of panic, Sharon wondered how long she would have before he came back in for her. Her head hurt and the room tilted sickeningly. She placed her hands on either side of the sink to steady herself. No time for that. She had to find a small and sharp concealable piece of glass. She reached into the sink to pluck one out, her breath catching in her throat as she listened for his shuffling footsteps._

"Sharon," Andy repeated for the third time. This time he reached for her, lightly resting a hand on each of her arms. Sharon jumped when he touched her and pulled away, flinching.

"Sharon," Andy said again. This time it was a plea.

She blinked and she was suddenly back in her kitchen. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Andy promised.

"I'm all right," Sharon assured Rusty as she put an arm around his shoulders. "Sometimes I remember things from –what happened. But I really am okay. Don't look so worried. What I'm going through, Rusty, is normal – my mind is just working things out," she explained. Sharon didn't know how normal any of this was. She'd never had to recover from something like this. But she would do everything in her power to reassure Rusty – and Andy, too.

As the evening grew later and later, Sharon repeatedly postponed going to bed as she had the night before. She was crabby because Andy wouldn't let her load the dishwasher or put in a load of laundry. She wanted her life to go back to normalcy and routine. She wanted this unpredictable feeling of dread to go away. It loomed throughout the day, ambushing her at odd moments, as it had in the kitchen. Sometimes she felt fine and other times she felt as if, no matter how deeply she breathed, she would never get enough air into her lungs. Between these unpleasant, rogue panic attacks and this irrational fear of going to sleep, Sharon felt like a colossal failure on the coping scale.

After midnight, Sharon finally slipped into bed next to Andy who had already fallen asleep, despite his valiant efforts to stay awake. He was exhausted. She wondered how long she had kept him up last night with the nightmare that she couldn't remember. Even asleep, he opened his arms for her and made a space so that she could cuddle up against him. She planted a soft, affectionate kiss on his cheek.

In the days to come, Sharon vowed as she breathed in Andy's familiar scent and closed her eyes, they would put the pieces that had been so brutally broken apart back together again.


End file.
